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■i       The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

and 
Other  Poems 


BENJAMIN  F.  LEGGETT 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/cruiseofhalfmoonOOIeggiala 


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Books  by  the  Same  Author 


"A  Tramp  Through  Switzerland' 

"A  Sheaf  of  Song" 

"An  Idyl  of  Lake  George" 

"The  City  of  Doom" 

"Out-Door  Poems" 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

and 

Other  Poems 

BY 

BENJAMIN  F.  LEGGETT 


The  Biddle  Press 
Philadelphia 


The  author  hereby  acknowledges  the  kindness  of 
the  editors  of  The  Christian  Endeavor  World,  The 
Youths'  Companion,  and  St.  Nicholas  in  permitting 
him    to    reprint    certain    poems   in    this    collection. 


Copyright,  1914 
By  Benjamin  F.  Leggett 


oo/^5<^/vV3 


To  My  Brother 
(G.  H.  L.) 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Cruise  of  the  Half  Moon   7 

My    Minstrel     10 

The   Treasure  of   Kings    12 

My  Apple  Trees   13 

When    Autumn    Comes    15 

Thomas   Bailey   Aldrich    17 

Only   a  Pebble    18 

Old  Man  Mist    19 

The  Border  Land    20 

My   Bungalow    3i 

A  Chester  County  Poet    ....*. 23 

In   Sugar  Time    25 

Eastertide     27 

Greetings — J.  E.   K 28 

In    Dreams     30 

Resurgam    31 

The   Only   Name    3a 

Hail  to  the  Flag   33 

An    Open    Book    35 

A  Legend  of  the  Thorn    37 

Old    and    New 38 

Sunrise  on   Mt.  Blanc    39 

In   Ye   Olden   Time    40 

In   Autumn    46 

A   Christmas  Ballad    47 

The  Winding  of   the   Skein    49 

My  Parsee    51 

A  Fossil   Dreamer    52 

Buttercups    54 

In    Shakespeare's   Room    55 

Little    Dorrit    59 

Fiftieth  Anniversary,  Class  of  '62 60 

On  the  Slope   62 

April-Tide     63 

Unto  the  Hills    64 

Blowing  Bubbles    65 

For  Memorial   Day   67 

The  Tryst   69 

April    70 

October    71 

Lips   of   Praise    72 

Pussy    Willow     73 

Indian    Summer    74 

Friends'   Lake    76 

Across   the    Hills    78 


PaEC 

Morning     80 

October   Days    81 

The   Waters  of   Crum    83 

The  Golden  Wedding,  L.  and  H.  H.  P 85 

At    Gad's    Hill    89 

Our    Prince    Imperial    , 91 

Keep  Thy  Heart   93 

The  Gospel  of  the  Leaves    94 

At    Gettysburg 95 

The  Heart  of  the  Pines   97 

A   Cheerful    Singer    98 

The  Edge  of  the  World   99 

December    Days loi 

Thanksgiving    103 

To  the  Poet  of  the  Brandywine    105 

At   Eventide    107 

The   Mother   Heart    109 

White  Birch  Pond   iii 

When   Lilacs   Blow    113 

In   Mountain   Land    114 

The  Quest  of  the  Maei    115 

The   Wings   of  the   Mornine    117 

The  Legend  of  the  Indian  Well 118 

The    Comet    121 

The  Feast  of  Harvest   122 

The   Maeic  Touch    123 

On    the   Trail    124 

A  Grave  in  Florence 125 

April    Days    126 

Dandelions   128 

By   Their    Fruits    129 

Burns'  Birthday    131 

Unto  Cassar    132 

An    Appreciation    133 

Memorial    Poem    134 

Sometime     137 

Qu.atrains    139 

At  Cedarrroft    140 

To   G.    H 141 

Old    Warren    142 

Keats     ij  1; 

St.  Andrews  bv  the  Sea   146 

In   Pemaqu'd    14.^ 

Lapland    Town     i';o 

The  Wedding  Dav    ic;z 

Finis    153 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  HALF  MOON. 
1609. 

'Twas  in  the  yellow  autumn  time, 

Three  hundred  years  away, 
When  first  the  Half  Moon  furled  her  sails 

In  old  Manhattan  Bay. 
Brave  Hudson  was  her  admiral, 

A  sailor  bold  and  true, 
And  twenty  sturdy  Hollanders 

Made  up  his  daring  crew! 

From  Eastern  lands  afar  they  came. 

Through  storm  or  favoring  breeze ; 
They  left  the  Old  World  for  the  New 

To  find  the  Indian  seas ; 
Each  burst  of  sunrise  cheered  them  on — 

And  sunset's  beacon  glow 
Led  Hudson  and  his  loyal  men 

Three  hundred  years  ago! 

On  either  hand  the  wooded  land 

Came  down  to  meet  the  sea ; 
While  from  the  North  the  tides  returned 

Brimful  of  mystery! 
Whence  came  the  mighty  waters  wide 

With  Titan  force  unspent. 
But  through  the  cloven  mountain  wall. 

The  rock-ribbed  continent? 

So  vast  the  sweep  of  waters  deep, 

So  wide  the  waters  rolled — 
This  way  must  lie  the  world-wide  sea 

And  India's  strand  of  gold! 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


So  Northward  turned  the  Half  Moon's  prow 

To  brave  the  haunted  stream, 
The  first  white  sail  to  break  the  hush 

Above  the  New  World's  dream! 

And  on  by  cliff  and  palisade 

And  misty  domes  of  blue 
The  weird  stream  opened  wide  its  gates 

To  let  the  Half  Moon  through ; 
While  Autumn  spread  upon  the  hills 

Her  riches  manifold, 
As  if  she  held  in  utter  scorn 

The  quest  for  other  gold. 

And  while  the  Half  Moon  sailed  and  sailed, 

And  woodland  echoes  called. 
The  waters  widened  to  the  view — 

A  blue  bay  mountain-walled. 
And  from  the  headland's  dizzy  crags 

The  Red  Chiefs  looked  below 
On  Hudson  and  his  daring  men. 

Three  hundred  years  ago! 

Then  rugged  hills  on  either  hand 

Shut  in  the  winding  stream — 
A  mirror  of  the  shagg}^  wild 

That  leaned  above  its  dream. 
By  day  the  white  sails  onward  sped 

And  strained  the  leaning  spars; 
By  night  they  idly  hung  between 

The  silent  gulfs  of  stars. 

Beyond  the  guarded  mountain  gates 

The  hills  retreated  far, 
And  softly  crept  the  stealthy  tides 

Past  cape  and  sandy  bar. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  hundred  miles  they  sailed  and  sailed, 

And  half  a  hundred  more, 
Before  the  shallows  barred  their  way 

Along  the  winding  shore. 

Down  from  the  hills  the  river  came, 

Fraught  with  strange  mysteries. 
To  seek  the  purple  flood  below 

And  mingle  with  the  seas. 
But  not  the  sweep  of  waters  deep ! 

No  more  the  sea-wide  zone! 
The  lure  that  led  them  on  and  on. 

In  mockery  had  flown ! 

So  ended  here  the  eager  cruise 
The  Half  Moon  made  of  old ; 

So  failed  the  dream  that  led  them  far 
In  quest  of  India's  gold. 

Then  Southward  turned  her  prow  again- 
Back  through  the  wonderland, 

Brave  Hudson  and  his  sturdy  crew 
To  Holland's  distant  strand. 

But  still  the  mighty  River  runs 

In  shade  or  sunny  gleam — 
A  royal  highway,  grander  far 

Than  Hendricks'  golden  dream. 
Roll  on,  O  River  of  the  hills! 

Long  as  thy  waters  flow 
Keep  thou  his  fame  who  found  thee  fair 

Three  hundred  years  ago! 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Mook 


MY   MINSTREL. 

In  sunny  mood  the  summer  long 
He  cheered  me  with  his  happy  song; 
In  orchard,  garden,  shade  or  sun 
His  quiet  tune  was  never  done; 
In  noonday  rest,  'mid  shadows  sweet, 
His  music  made  repose  complete; 
And  with  the  evening  shadows  drawn 
Across  the  shut  blooms  of  the  lawn, 
His  vibrant  note  would  sound  alway 
A  vesper  for  the  closing  day; 
So  hearty  cheer  rang  through  his  song 
In  summer  when  the  days  were  long. 

And  when  the  year  was  growing  old 

Amid  the  flying  autumn  gold, 

And  even  when  the  nights  were  chill, 

His  quiet  song  was  cheery  still. 

Though  softer  grew  his  tender  strain 

As  if  he  felt  the  old  year  wane, 

And  touched  with  sorrow  scarce  could  play 

His  viol  in  the  old  sweet  way; 

But  still  he  sang  'mid  grasses  sere 

The  passing  of  the  brown  old  year. 

Recalling  in  his  lilt  and  rhyme 

The  happy  songs  of  summertime. 

When  frost  without  began  to  fall, 
I  heard  him  from  my  crannied  wall. 
Though  chilly  winds  began  to  blow, 
He  felt  the  wood-fire's  cheerful  glow, 
And  often  sang  when  day  was  spent 
The  olden  song  of  sweet  content 
'Till  under  winter's  sterner  will, 
The  viol  and  the  song  grew  still : 

10 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And   now,   my   minstrel   silent   grown, 
I  muse  before  my  fire  alone 
On  all  the  wealth  of  music  lost 
Amid  the  silence  of  the  frost. 


11 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  TREASURE  OF  KINGS. 

With  incense,  myrrh  and   gold 
Out  of  the  kingdoms  old — 
From  lands  remote  and  far, 
Led  by  the  Angel  Star, 
The  Kings  of  Orient  fame 
On  swinging  camels  came, 
While  star-beams  sifted  down 
Above   the   white-walled    town. 
Where  in  a  stall  forlorn 
The  lowly  Christ  was  born ! 

Out  of  their  treasures  old 

They  gave  Him  gifts  of  gold; — 

Gold,> — the  symbol  and  sign 

Of  Majesty  Divine: — 

Incense, — precious  and  sweet. 

Type  of  homage  complete: — 

Myrrh, — a  prophecy  brief 

Of  sorrow,  acquainted  with  grief: — 

These  are  the  gifts  they  told 

Out  of  their  treasures  old. 

Now  while  the  Christmas  chimes 
Waken  the  olden  times. 
What  are  the  gifts  we  bring 
Unto  our  Lord,  the  King? — 
Royal  faith  for  the  gold 
Brought  by  the  kings  of  old ; 
Worship  for  incense  sweet — 
Bowing  low   at   His   feet; 
And  joy  for  myrrh  this  morn 
Because  the  Christ  is  born. 


12 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


MY  APPLE  TREES 

My  apple  trees  from  winter's  chill 
In  springtime  waken  with  a  thrill, 
While  vital  currents  start  and  run 
With  every  day  of  climbing  sun, 
Till  south-wind  voices  woo  and  call 
To  leaf  and  blossom  carnival. 

My  trees  note  how  the  seasons  go 
From  summer  bloom  to  winter  snow; 
Their  youthful  graces  lithe  and  slim 
Have  grown  to  burly  trunk  and  limb, 
Through  wondrous  gift  of  magic  rings 
The  oft-repeated  summer  brings. 

Within  their  shade  the  robin  builds, 
The  cat  bird  sings,  the  thrasher  trills ; 
The  green  leaves  turn  and  whisper  low 
Such  secrets  as  the  south  winds  blow. 
And  lull  to  sleep  and  quiet  rest 
The  dreamers  in  the  robin's  nest. 

I  lean  against  the  rugged  grace 
My  wide-spread  arms  may  not  embrace, 
And  muse  on  all  the  summers  fiown, 
The  forms  of  beauty  made  my  own, 
While  clouds  of  bloom  and  humming  bees 
Make  glad  my  spreading  apple  trees. 

My  faith  is  quickened  when  it  sees 
The  blossoms  on  the  apple  trees; 
The  promise  fair,   the  certain  clew 
To  fruitage  since  the  world  was  new, 
Such  hoarded  sweets  of  sunshine  warm 
To  glad  the  heart  of  v.-iiitcr's  storm. 
13 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


The  harvest  that  my  orchard  brings 
Is  better  than  the  wealth  of  kings ; 
The  dreams,  the  rest,  the  quiet  joy 
And  peace  to  heal  the  heart's  annoy — 
Such  riches  on  his  head  may  be 
Who  lives  to  plant  an  apple  tree! 


14 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


WHEN  AUTUMN  COMES. 

The  leaves  are  turning  red  and  brown ; 

The  fields  lie  bare  and  shorn ; 
A  presence  comes  in  russet  gown 

Across  the  fields  of  corn. 

Where  late  the  frolic  Summer  ran 
Mid  bloom  and  songful  thrills, 

With  dream\^  eyes  and  cheeks  of  tan 
Fair  Autumn  walks  the  hills. 

Her  step  is  light,  her  vision  clear, 
O'er  valley,  slope  and  plain ; 

The  graces  of  the  waning  year 
Are  in  her  royal  train. 

Her  path  is  over  wood  and  lea. 

Across  the  peaceful  farms ; 
And  bush  and  vine  and  blade  and  tree 

Are  fairer  for  her  charms. 

A  smoky  haze  is  over  all ; 

The  goldenrods  a-dream 
Are  nodding  by  the  orchard  wall 

And  by  the  meadow  stream. 

The   graybeard   vines   by   rock   and    rift 
Are  foaming  down  the  run, 

And  milkweed  floss  and  thistle  drift 
Across  the  slopes  of  sun. 

What  magic  tints  of  gold  and  red 
On   changing  leaves  are   drawn! 

While  stubble-fields  at  morn  are  spread 
With  cobweb  lace  and  lawn. 

15 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

The  aster-blooms  and  bittersweet 

By  spider  films  are  crossed, 
And  blighted  mint  and  fern  repeat 

The  story  of  the  frost. 

Such  color  lights  the  woodland  wide 

By  valley,  hill  and  stream ; 
And  over  all  the  mountain  side 

The  gold  and  russet  gleam. 

Fair  Autumn  leans  upon  the  hills, 
Wrapped  in  a  dreamy  haze, 

The  while  her  heart  with  rapture  thrills 
Through  all  the  opal  days. 


16 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH. 

In  that  old  sea-town  where  his  boyhood  passed, 

What  gray  dreams  called  him,  beckoning  with  their  hands; 

And  lured  him  on  and  held  him  to  the  last. 
As  tang  of  salt  air  holds  the  tided  sands. 

For  him  the  sea  put  on  her  fairest  charms, 
And  rocked  him  oft  upon  her  crested  swells. 

Or  held  him  fondly  in  her  jeweled  arms 
And  crooned  to  him  the  music  of  her  shells. 

He  heard  the  shoal-rocks  beat  the  breakers  white, 
The  shriek  of  cloud-wrack  scudding  down  the  gale, 

The  bale-fire's  hiss  across  the  blind,  dumb  night. 
The  moan  of  winds  above  a  vanished  sail. 

A  thousand  voices  called  him  far  and  wide. 

The  gray  gulls  softly  syllabled  his  name. 
And  storm  and  calm  and  winds  and  shifting  tide 

So  shaped  his  after  dreams  that  he  became 

A  master  builder  of  the  lofty  rhyme. 

Art's  perfect  minstrel,  pure  as  love  and  strong; 

Wisest  in  word-craft  of  his  day  and  time, 
A  necromancer  in  the  realm  of  song. 


17 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


ONLY  A  PEBBLE. 

Here  in  my  hand  is  a  silent  wonder, 

Fashioned  and  formed  in  the  frozen  world, 

Sculptured  and  smoothed  the  glacier  under, 
And  out  of  the  grim  ice-ages  hurled. 

Down  from  the  frore  earth's  mystical  morning, 
Furrowed  and  grooved  in  the  primal  gloom, 

That  never  flushed  with  the  faintest  warning 
Of  a  dawn  to  follow  the  night  of  doom. 

Deep  under  the  dead  world,  glacier-laden, 
Scourged  by  the  frost-gnome's  stinging  rime, 

Smooth  as  the  cheek  of  a  fair  young  maiden 
All  in  the  June  of  her  life's  glad  prime. 

Through  the  long,  lone  night  of  unstarred  dreaming. 
In  darkness  felt  while  the  aeons  rolled, 

Dead  to  the  morning's  mystical  gleaming, 
The  violet's  blue  and  the  sunset's  gold. 

Out  of  the  dread  night's  measureless  slumber 
Awake  to  the  glow  of  matchless  morn, 

Runed  by  the  ice-elves  nameless  in  number, 
To  a  world  of  light  and  life  new-born. 

Long  ere  the  kings  of  the  nameless  ages 

Crimsoned  with  slaughter  the  patient  earth, 

And  History  traced  her  golden  pages, 
This  dateless  messenger  came  to  birth ! 

Now  deaf  to  the  crash  of  glacier  thunder. 
And  mocking  our  years  with  silent  tongue. 

Behold  in  my  hand  a  carven  wonder 

From  aeons  old  when  the  race  was  young! 

18 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


OLD  MAN  MIST. 

Unmarred  by  the  years  is  Old  Man  Mist, 

Though  old  as  the  hills  is  he; 
He  had  his  birth  ere  the  sunshine  kissed 

The  rivers  that  seek  the  sea. 
His  home  is  ever  the  airy  tent 

That  holds  the  treasures  of  dew, 
Whose  walls  are  wide  as  the  firmament 

And  hung  with  the  tenderest  blue. 

When  roses  droop  and  the  daisies  swoon 

For  song  of  the  summer  rain, 
His  presence  comes  as  a  gracious  boon 

O'er  valley  and  field  and  plain : 
Whenever  the  folds  of  his  tent  swing  wide, 

At  eve,  or  the  gray  of  morn, 
The  hills  are  glad,  and  the  mountain  side. 

The  meadows  and  fields  of  corn. 

Full  softly  he  comes  with  wealth  untold 

And  scatters  his  treasure  rare — 
Life  for  the  blooms  of  crimson  and  gold. 

And  jewels  beyond  compare: 
But  hidden  alway  from  noonday  light. 

His  wonderful  deeds  are  done, 
Under  the  cloud  and  out  of  the  sight 

Of  the  fervid  glare  of  the  sun. 

We  call  him  old  by  the  years  of  time 

Since  wrinkled  he  seems,  in  sooth, 
But  strong  is  he  in  his  manly  prime, 

For  he  keeps  the  dreams  of  youth: — 
How  light  his  step  on  the  rocky  stair 

As  he  climbs  the  mountain  height, 
And  leaps  to  his  tent  in  the  purple  air 

And  vanishes  out  of  sight. 

19 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  BORDER  LAND. 

How  near  the  land  that  neighbors  this  we  stray! 

That  misty  realm  no  eye  hath  ever  seen, 
Along  whose  border  runs  our  winding  way, 

With  but  a  step  between ! 

The  friends  we  miss  are  not  so  far,  I  ween, 

Though  they  have  passed  beyond  the  utmost  bound, 

Into  the  land  mysterious  and  unseen. 
Beyond  this  shadow  ground. 

We  feel  their  presence  in  that  hidden  sphere, 
Though  out  of  sight,  they  all  about  us  throng; 

To  finer  sense  attuned  we  well  might  hear 
The  air  alive  with  song. 

Just  where  the  twilights  softly  meet  and  blend. 
We  may  not  know  by  any  hint,  or  sign, 

But  we  shall  meet  glad  welcome  at  the  end. 
When  w^e  have  crossed  the  line. 


20 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


MY  BUNGALOW. 

Above  the  moiling  world  below, 
On  slopes  where  airs  of  summer  blow ; 
Above  the  lowland's  placid  heat, 
Where  woodland  branches  cool  and  sweet 
Such  shadow-tapestries  let  fall 
As  never  waved  from  palace  wall ; 
W^ith  blue  above  and  green  below 
I  build  my  mountain  bungalow. 

The  primal  rock  my  mossy  floor, 
Two  boulders  frame  my  open  door. 
And  fragrant  hemlock-bark  outspread 
The  thatch  of  rafters  overhead  ; 
And  every  unhewn  post  and  part 
Is  carved  with  Nature's  rarest  art. 
While  kings  who  reign  by  right  divine 
Might  long  for  balsam  couch  like  mine. 

From  lichened  ledges  upward  hurled 
In  early  youth-time  of  the  world, 
I  look  beyond  the  valley's  rim 
To  faint  horizons  far  and  dim. 
Across  the  gleaming  lakes  and  rills 
That  lie  amid  the  folded  hills. 
On  range  o'er  range  and  peaks  that  stand 
As  warders  of  the  mountain  land. 

What  peace  and  rest  the  days  impart 
Here  folded  close  to  nature's  heart. 
While  deep  we  quaff,  unvexed  with  strife, 
The  wine  of  quiet — dew  of  life; 
Grim  care  and  fret  we  well  may  scorn 
To  note  the  changing  tints  of  morn. 
Or  from  the  poet's  pages  look 
To  read  from  nature's  open  book. 

21       . 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

What  vital  airs  of  life  distil 
From  wooded  slope  and  pine-clad  hill ; 
The  breath  of  mountain  fern  so  sweet, 
Of  wintergreens  beneath  my  feet, 
Of  princes'  pine  and  birch  enstoled 
In  white  amid  the  forest  old. 
Is  sweetest  incense  undefiled 
Through  fretted  nave  of  temple  wild! 

From  Arden-wood  the  breezes  blow 
Around  my  mountain  bungalow; 
The  rest  of  eve,  the  joy  of  morn, 
The  glories  of  the  woodland  born ; 
The  pines'  sweet  music,  soft  and  low. 
Blends  with  the  runnel's  ceaseless  flow — 
With  thrushes'  note  and  wood-bird's  trill, 
The  screech-owl's  cry  and  v/hip-poor-will. 

My  bungalow — my  bungalow! 
What  happy  visions  come  and  go ! 
Through  all  the  royal  summer  long 
What  melodies  of  woodland  song! 
And  nightly  glorious  dreams  return 
While  constellations  swing  and  burn, 
Till  morn  comes  back  w4th  ruddy  gleam 
To  frame  in  fact  my  fairest  dream. 

O  dwellers  in  the  world  below, 

Come  up  where  mountain  breezes  blow; 

Forsake  the  bitter  dregs  of  care 

For  beakers  of  tiie  vital  air, 

And  quiet  sleep  shall  give  you  dreams 

To  music  of  the  flowing  streams; 

The  joy  of  living  you  shall  know — 

His  joy  who  builds  a  bungalow! 

22 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

A  CHESTER  COUNTY  POET 
(T.  B.  R.,  1822-1872.) 

Again  the  fields  are  lying  brown  and  bare, 

The  woodlands  wear  their  royal  crown  of  gold, 

And  dreamy  Autumn  rests  without  a  care 
Upon  the  hills  our  poet  sang  of  old. 

Since  then  how  many  golden  years  have  flown? 

What  summers  trailed  above  the  vale  and  hill? 
And  yet  upon  the  airy  breezes  blown 

The  songs  he  sang  are  ringing  sweetly  still. 

This  singer  felt  the  beat  of  nature's  heart; 

He  walked  with  her  and  called  her  by  her  name, 
And  taught  by  her  he  wove  with  rarest  art 

"The  happy  songs  that  never  dreamed  of  fame." 

Peace,  love  and  hope  and  lowly  ways  of  men, 
And  cheerful  firesides  and  familiar  streams ; 

And  scenes  of  youth  he  kept  within  his  ken 

And  sang  of  them  the  while  he  dreamed  his  dreams. 

In  lands  remote  his  footsteps  wandered  wide, 

Where  art  and  beauty  led  his  feet  would  roam; 

But  true  and  loyal  at  the  eventide 

He  turned  again  to  boyhood  hills  of  home. 

His  muse  was  native  to  the  soil  he  trod — 

The  hills  and  vales  and  mountains  vast  and  grand, 

And  so  he  sang,  with  faith  in  love  and  God 

The  sweet  "New  Pastoral"  of  his  childhood's  land. 

The  Juniata's  softly  murmured  tune 

That  moves  to  measures  of  the  eldest  time, 

And  Susquehanna's  placid  forest  rune 
He  set  to  music  in  his  stately  rhyme. 

23 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


The  Brandywine  that  mirrors  cloud  and  star 
And  countless  forms  of  beauty  manifold, 

And  Allegheny's  lifted  peaks  afar 

That  take  the  sunrise  and  the  sunset  gold. 

These  sang  he  well  amid  the  Chester  hills, 

With  happy  homes  and  wooded  slopes  between. 

The  mellow  laughter  of  the  mountain  rills, 

The  golden  harvests  and  "The  Closing  Scene." 

And  more  and  more  the  loving  tribute  due. 
We  render  him  whom  well  we  loved  before, 

For  manly  measures  ringing  ever  true 

And  sweetest  song  that  lingers  evermore. 

Love  gives  to-day  the  meed  withheld  so  long, 
But  bronze  and  marble  crumble  and  decay; 

Who  learns  his  art  from  nature's  living  song 
Will  live  for  aye  when  these  have  passed  away! 

O  minstrel,  born  upon  these  lasting  hills. 
Sweet  be  thy  rest  where  dust  and  ashes  lie, 

Thy  song  each  heart  with  joy  and  gladness  fills, 
And  in  our  hearts  thy  fame  will  never  die. 


24 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  SUGAR-TIME. 

With  the  climbing  of  the  sun 

Vital  forces  wake  and  run ; 

Through  the  woodland  and  the  hills 

How  the  heart  of  Nature  thrills! 

Sunward  slopes  beneath  the  snow 

Feel  the  tidal  currents  flow, 

While  the  leafless  forest  lands 

Know  the  touch  of  airy  hands, 

And  the  maples'  amber  blood 

Climbs  through  trunk  and  branch  and  bud. 

Higher  swings  the  sun,  and,  lo! 
Tiny  footprints  track  the  snow ; 
Woodland  life  begins  to  stir; 
Squirrels  chatter;    wings  awhir; 
Shod  with  silence,   timid  feet 
Track  the  path  with  purpose  fleet; 
In  the  hemlocks  caw  and  wing 
Bring  a  sure  foretaste  of  spring, 
And  the  sugar-time  has  come 
When  the  partridge  beats  his  drum. 


When  the  chill  at  evening  weaves 
Icy  pendants  at  the  eaves, 
And  the  morning's  cheerful  gleam 
Makes  the  frostwork  but  a  dream, 
There's  a  tumult  'neath  the  snow 
Makes  the  maples  overflow. 
Then  the  sturdy  monarchs  feel 
Tap  of  mallet,  touch  of  steel. 
And  their  treasured  wealth  complete 
Makes  the  woodman's  labor  sweet. 

25 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

So  the  crystal  currents  run 

At  the  magic  touch  of  sun ; 

Gathered  then  by  sledded  vans 

To  the  camp-fire's  steaming  pans, 

Where  the  red  flame  works  its  spell 

By  a  kind  of  miracle, 

While  the  sweet  flood,  to  and  fro. 

Bubbles  onward,  sure  and  slow, 

'Till  it  turns  to  nectar  true, 

Tinct  with  amber  through  and  through. 

Further  stress  of  fire  reveals 
Other  wealth  the  maple  yields; 
Honey-syrups  sweet  and  rare 
Other  transmutations  share, 
'Till  the  feathery  plume  outspun 
Shows  the  magic  purpose  won. 
And,  the  final  spell  o'er-past, 
Lo!  the  crystal  gems  at  last, — 
Creamy  treasures,  amber,  brown, 
Jewels  of  the  maple's  crown. 


26 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


EASTERTIDE. 

Down  along  the  meadow  rill, 
South  winds  a-blowing, 

Waking  pulses  throb  and  thrill, 
Tiny  things  growing. 

Magic  of  the  misty  air 

Tender  green  bringing, 
Pussy-willows,  silken,  fair, 

Grassy  blades  springing. 

Out  of  Earth  the  snowdrops  blow 
With  upward  yearning, 

Lifting  petals  all  aglow. 
Sunward  still  turning. 

From  the  dust  a  vital  breath 
The  dead  Earth  scorning. 

Life  and  beauty  born  of  death 
On  Easter  morning. 


27 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

GREETINGS. 
To  J.  E.  K. 

November  woods  are  brown  and  bare, 

November  skies  are  gray, 
And  snowflakes  drifting  down  the  air 

Bring  round  thy  natal  day. 

Now  God  be  praised  for  rest  and  peace, 

For  bounty,  grace  and  cheer, 
For  hope  of  Heaven  and  love's  increase 

That  crown  another  year. 

Four-score  and  seven  thy  years  have  run 

Since  glow  of  morn  began; — 
A  toiler  thou  till  set  of  sun 

To  bless  thy   fellowman. 

How  broad  the  landscape's  whitened  gleam- 
How  clear  the  vision  wide, 

How  vast  the  still  horizons  seem 
At  life's  November-tide! 

What  hosts  along  the  rugged  way 
Will  weave  for  thee  a  crown — 

Upon  thy  snowy  head  to-day 
Call  kindly  blessings  down! 

O  watcher  well  of  youthful  weal, 

Now  clearer  eyes  can  see, 
What  only  riper  years  reveal, 

The  debt  we  owe  to  thee. 

So  God  be  thanked  for  golden  days 
And  golden  years  gone  by, 

28 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


For  guidance  into  wisdom's  ways 
When  dreams  of  youth  ran  high. — 

They  pass, — the  dreams  of  glowing  morn, 
And  friends  we  cherished  then. 

With  one,  thy  kinsman,  nobly  born, — 
The  Galahad  of  men. 

And  now  across  the  waning  year 

Thy  birthday  comes  again ; 
May  each  one  bring  a  world  of  cheer 

While  life  and  love  remain. 

And  may  His  love  divine  impart 

Rich  grace  for  all  thy  days, 
His  gladness  linger  in  thy  heart 

And  on  thy  lips  His  praise. 


29 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  DREAMS. 

In  dreams  I  stood  from  earth  aside 
And  from  the  chambered  skv. 

Through  starry  spaces  vast  and  wide 
I  saw  the  world  drift  by! 

One  half-sphere  lay  in  rosy  light, — 
In  tints  of  morning  drawn, 

The  other  shadowed  by  the  night, 
But  ringed  with  flush  of  dawn. 

A  grim,  weird  blackness  trailed  afar 
Behind  the  flying  sphere — 

A  dragon  scaled  with  many  a  star, — 
A  shadowy  shape  of  fear! 

Strange  whispers  bade  my  spirit  hark 
To  undertones  that  came — 

The  sob  of  sorrow  through  the  dark, 
The  joy  of  morning  flame. 

A  mingled  surge  without  surcease — 

The  revel  and  the  song, 
The  tender  strains  of  love  and  peace, 

The  curse  of  hate  and  wrong. 

And  on  the  swinging  world  adrift 
Went  sweeping  down  to  doom ; — 

I  felt  at  once  the  sunny  lift 
And  shuddered   in  the  gloom! 


3) 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


RESURGAM. 

A  little  brown  seed  fell  into  the  earth 
When  Autumn  was  flying  her  gold, 

So  tiny  and  frail — so  barren  of  worth, 
And  Winter  came  down  with  his  cold. 

A  slender  green  blade  came  up  from  the  earth 
When  the  Spring's  sun  mellowed  the  clod, 

And  the  miracle  hues  of  bloom  had  birth 
And  stood  in  the  glory  of  God. 


31 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  ONLY  NAME. 

The  chiefest  name  that  earth  has  heard, 
To  which  its  Kingdoms  yet  shall  bow, — 

The  Wonderful — the  Living  Word, 

With  print  of  thorn-crown  on  His  brow! 

Our  seamless  robe  of  righteousness, 

The  Hope  of  all  the  ages  He; 
The  Man  complete  in  perfectness — 

The  Life  divine  of  Galilee! 

Heed  thou,  O  Earth,  the  truth  He  taught. 
Of  perfectness  the  bond  and  sign. 

Which  lacking  all  our  lives  are  naught. 
Since  Love  fulfills  the  law  divine. 


32 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


HAIL  TO  THE  FLAG. 

Hail  to  the  flag  to-day  unfurled! 
Hail  to  the  flag  that  tops  the  world ! 
This  is  the  flag  that  Peary's  might 
Set  in  the  frozen  Polar  night ! 

Flag  of  the  land  and  flag  of  the  sea 
We  lift  our  eyes  and  hearts  to  thee; 
Beautiful  flag  of  the  banded  bars, 
And  snowy  white  of  the  stainless  stars; 
We  give  thy  folds  to  the  breezy  air 
And  watch  its  billowy  beauty  there. 
Thy  colors  are  of  the  driven  snow, 
Thy  crimson  the  flush  of  sunset  glow. 
Thy  starry  field  is  a  field  of  blue 
Such  as  the  stars  of  heaven  shine  through. 
And  thy  ample  folds  on  the  air  unfurled 
Our  Union's  hope  and  joy  of  the  world! 

More  than  a  hundred  years  have  rolled 

Since  thy  birth-dawn  in  the  days  of  old ; 

Dark  were  the  times  when  our  honored  sires 

Kept  watch  and  word  by  their  lone  campfires, 

Or  reeled  and  fled  in  a  broken  line 

From  the  crimson  field  of  the  Brandywine! 

At  Valley  Forge  in  the  long  ago, 

Thy  starry  folds  were  a  sun-burst  glow 

Above  the  smoke  of  the  campfires  curled 

O'er  the  men  that  held  the  fate  of  the  world! 

On  fields  untold  thou  hast  led  the  van 
Of  those  who  strove  for  the  right  of  man ; 
At  Saratoga  thy  legions  won, 
At  Yorktov.-n  thundered  the  final  gim, 
And  victory  perched   on  each   banner-fold 
When  the  strife  was  done  in  the  days  of  old! 

33 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Flag  of  our  Union ! — nor  treason's  frown 
Could  haul  thy  blazon  of  glory  down; 
And  the  honored  dead  who  lie  at  rest 
On  hill  and  valley  and  mountain  crest 
But  yielded  their  lives  and  bore  their  scars 
For  the  love  of  thee,  O  Banner  of  Stars! 

O  Flag  of  our  Union !  wave  ever  and  aye 

As  over  our  loyal  heads  to-day: — 

A  banner  of  peace,  not  of  battle  and  scars 

Is  our  emblem  of  light — the  Banner  of  Stars: — 

A  pillar  and  cloud  our  guide  to  be 

In  the  land  of  the  brave  and  home  of  the  free ! 

Peace,  Honor  and  Justice,  and  Love  and  Law, 
The  virtues  that  sound  thy  symbol  draw; 
A  beacon  of  beauty  from  age  to  age 
To  lighten  our  history's  crimson  page. 
To  hearten  the  weak  against  the  strong, 
To  win  in  the  battle  with  hate  and  wrong. 
To  stifle  the  passion  of  greed  and  gold. 
And  the  lust  of  treason  manifold, 
And  weave  for  our  land  the  seamless  dress 
Of  Charity,  Peace  and  Righteousness ! 

Flag  of  the  land  and  flag  of  the  sea 

We  lift  our  eyes  and  our  hopes  to  thee ! 

Flag  from  the  North  to  the  Alexic  strand. 

Flag  of  the  plain  and  the  mountain  land. 

Flag  of  the  brave  who  nameless  lie 

Under  the  blue  of  the  bending  sky, 

Waiting  the  Maytime  sun  and  showers 

To  cover  their  rest  with  tender  flowers, — 

O  beautiful  flag!  be  thou  nevermore  furled 

Till  Freedom  and  Justice  shall  conquer  the  world ! 


34 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AN  OPEN  BOOK. 

Nature  is  from  eldest  date 
God's  own  page  illuminate; 
Wisdom  speaks  in  word  and  line 
Of  the  missal  half  divine; 
Tiny  starwort  wet  with  dew, 
Coiling  fern  and  speedwell  blue, 
Tender  violets  that  cling 
To  the  sandal-prints  of  Spring, — 
Fibrous  roots  beneath  the  mold 
Weaving  tangled  threads  of  gold, 
Bud  and  leaf  and  grasses  bent 
In  the  hush  of  sacrament, 
Speak  a  vital  truth  full  well 
Taught  in  nature's  miracle. 

Willows  greening  by  the  rill. 
Alders  by  the  waters  still. 
Shy  arbutus  hidden  low, 
Quickened  pulses  'neath  the  snow. 
Liverworts  and  miskodeeds. 
Swelling  buds  and  bursting  seeds. 
Folded  leaf  and  spiring  tree 
Hold  a  hidden  mystery: 
All  that  wisest  sages  know 
Cannot  make  the  grasses  grow, 
Neither  spin  the  lily's  dress 
With  a  thread  of  beauty  less. 
Or  reveal  how  sun  and  vine 
Turn  the  water  into  wine! 

Down  from  star  to  vernal  sod 
Nature  utters  thoughts  of  God! 
Tiny  seeds  hid  in  the  mold 
Such  a  wonder  will  unfold ; 

35 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Flying  shuttles  of  the  rain 
And  the  sun  are  never  vain, 
And  they  weave  in  mystic  loom 
All  the  thousand  tints  of  bloom, 
Changeless  while  the  years  are  told 
As  the  dandelions'  gold. 
Nature's  volume  is  divine 
In  its  beauty  and  design 
And  the  lilies  truth  unfold 
As  in  Galilee  of  old ! 


36 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  THORN. 

The  thorn  tree  blushed  in  rosy  white 

Before  the  world  was  old, 
And  hid  its  cruel  spines  from  sight 

'Mid  bloom  and  fruited  gold. 

But  since  they  took  its  naked  sprays, 
Black  hate  and  cruel  scorn, 

And  wove  them  in  a  tangled  maze 
To  make  His  crown  of  thorn; — 

When  miracles  of  bloom  return 

To  set  the  woods  aflame. 
His  petals  into  crimson  burn 

In  penitence  and  shame! 

And  when  the  Autumn's  golden  gleam 
Lights  orchard,  field  and  wood. 

The  thorns  red  apples  strangely  seem 
Thick  drops  of  falling  blood! 


37 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


OLD  AND  NEW. 

Tears  on  the  face  of  the  wan  old  year, 
The  light  in  his  dim  eyes  failing, 

The  last  lone  watch  of  the  night  so  near, 
And  winds  in  the  woodlands  wailing. 

The  gray-robed  earth  and  the  sky  are  met. 
Held  fast  in  a  mist  of  sorrow, 

While  the  year  lies  low  in  sad  regret. 
But  a  new  hope  dawns  to-morrow. 


38 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


SUNRISE  ON  MONT  BLANC. 

High  on  the  pass  'mid  craggy  peaks  sublime, 

Whose  sacred  lights  were  taper-stars  of  time, 

We  vigil  kept  through  night  of  Alpine  cold 

To  hail  the  splendor  lips  have  never  told. 

When  through  the  long  dawn-corridors  should  spring 

The  royal  pageant  of  a  mountain  king. 

Night  waned  apace,  and  when  the  watch  was  done, 
And  morn  had  quenched  her  tapers  one  by  one, 
What  speechless  splendor  with  the  vision  came! 
What  matchless  hues  of  million  colored  flame 
Lit  up  his  court  of  empire  vast  and  wide 
While  Mont  Blanc  stood  transfigured,  glorified! 


39 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  YE  OLDEN  TIME. 

Two  Hundred   and  Twent3--fifth  Anniversary  of  Concord 
Monthly  Meeting,  Concordville,  Pa.,  August  i6,  191 1. 

How  grandly  sweep  the  centuries 

On  downy  pinions  by! 
Nor  leave  a  furrow  on  the  sea, 

Or  shadow  on  the  sky — 
As  softly  as  the  crimson  light 

The  grail  of  azure  fills 
Or  silently  as  morning  drifts 

Above  the  dreaming  hills. 

So  pass  amid  the  silences 

The  sandalled  feet  of  Time, 
Above  the  smallest  dust  of  earth, 

Beyond  the  spheres  sublime: — 
The  years  mar  not  the  mountain's  crown — 

The  lasting  hills  repose. 
Though  all  the  wilderness  rejoice 

And  blossom  as  the  rose. 

O,  vast  New  World  that  held  the  fate 

Of  peoples  yet  unknown — 
What  changes  time  in  thee  hath  wrought 

While  centuries  have  flown ! 
WTiat  sage  or  seer  dare  prophesy 

Whereto  the  seed  would  grow, 
They  planted  in  the  Jamestown  wild 

Three  hundred  years  ago? 

Years  passed  and  to  the  Northern  strand 

That  keeps  their  home  and  fame. 
The  Mayflower  braved  the  winter  storm — 

The  sturdy  Pilgrims  came ; — 

40 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  later  still  another  band 

Of  fearless,  godly  men, 
Who  built  a  State  and  kept  for  aye 

The  name  of  William  Penn ! 

But  two-score  years  had  come  and  gone 

Since  he  of  Drayton  town, 
Went  forth  to  preach  the  newer  life 

On  English  dale  and  down — 
Illustrious  Fox !  whose  burning  words 

Smote  error's  gilded  mail. 
While  Bunyan  dreamed  his  Pilgrim  dream 

In  grim  old  Bedford  jail: 

So  near  was  Fox  to  those  brave  days 

When  blind  old  Milton's  strain 
Rehearsed  the  epic  of  our  race 

In  Eden's  loss  and  gain ; — 
When  Cromwell  prayed,  and  Hampden  strove, 

And  faithless  kings  were  spurned, 
And  Right  was  more  than  Royalty, 

While  fires  of  freedom  burned, — 

What  wonder  that  his  soul  was  stirred 

With  zeal  of  Heaven  born, 
To  wake  the  world  to  purer  life — 

To  preach,  rebuke  and  warn  ; — 
To  mend  the  crooked  ways  of  earth 

And  make  them  straight  again 
Beneath  the  gracious  Light  Divine — 

The  heritage  of  men. — 

— How  changed   the  tangled   forest  wide, 

By  swift  red  hunters  trod ; 
Since  first  the  fathers  builded  here 

A  place  to  worship  God ! 

41 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  here  within  an  humble  fold — 

A  log  house,  low  and  rude, 
They  waited  for  the  Guiding  Light — 

The  spirit's  quietude. 

They  tamed  the  trackless  wilderness, 

They  wrought  with  pious  care, 
The  first  to  build  in  Penn's  broad  land 

The  peaceful  fanes  of  prayer; 
They  planted  in  this  New  World  soil, 

Ere  smoke  of  battle  curled, 
A  vine  of  Peace  amid  the  wild 

To  grow  and  bless  the  world : 

And  'neath  its  sheltering  shade  there  grew 

The  fireside  and  the  school, 
And  well  they  kept  their  humble  faith 

And  lived  the  Golden  Rule; 
Love  hedged  them  'round  with  quietness 

And  bade  all  striving  cease, 
Contentment  was  their  heritage — 

They  loved  the  way  of  Peace. — 

— Two  hundred  years!    Two  hundred  years: 

And  half  of  fifty  fled  ; 
Since  first  they  builded  here  and  walled 

Yon  city  of  the  dead — 
With  willing  hearts  and  willing  hands 

They  wrought  at  eve  and  morn. 
And  builded  better  than  they  knew 

For  ages  yet  unborn  ! 

To-day  we  look  across  the  land. 

Lapped  in  the  summer  glow, 
But  not  as  they  who  lived  and  loved 

In  dead  years  long  ago ! 

42 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

The  same  sun  shone  above  their  heads, 
The  stars  and  sunbeams  smiled, 

But  nature  held  primeval  court 
For  them  amid  the  wild ! 

Where  now  the  fruitful  farms  are  spread 

Beneath   the  summer  sheen 
The  swarthy  leagues  of  wilderness 

Waved  their  unbounded  green ; 
But  here  and  there  a  clearing  smiled 

And  sunshine  filtered  through, 
And  smoke  of  homes  and  wigwams  curled 

And  blended  with  the  blue. 

Through  passing  years  the  clearings  grew, 

The  wildness  passed  away. 
New  hearthfires  lent  a  brighter  glow 

To  cheer  the  toiler's  way; 
Hope  sprang  anew  and  Fortune  smiled 

Above  the  favored  land, 
And  these  old  walls  uprose  and  stood 

As  here  to-day  they  stand ! 

What  sturdy  men  of  might  were  they 

Who  reared  these  walls  of  old — 
The  tamers  of  the  wilderness. 

Those  men  of  manly  mold  ! 
Could  we  but  call  the  honor  roll 

Of  that  long-vanished  day 
The  Brintons  and  the  Mendenhalls 

Would  surely  answer — "aye!" 

The  Pierces,  Palmers,  Scotts  and  Ways, 

Beneath  the  open  sky ; 
The  Trimbles,  Gilpins,  Taylors,  Rings 

And  Ncwlins  would  reply; 

43 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


The  Marshalls,  Pennells,  Hannums,  Pyles 

Would  listen  to  the  call, 
And  hosts  of  others  yet  unnamed 

Would  answer,  one  and  all. — 

— ^The  generations  pass  and  go 

With  life's  swift  ebbing  tide, 
But  still  some  trace  they  leave  for  aye, 

Their  deeds  and  works  abide: — 
God's  acre  holds  their  sacred  dust 

Unmarked  by  date  or  name, 
For  lichened  slab  or  leaning  stone 

Are  vain  as  earthly  fame. — 

O  ancient  House  upon  the  /lills! 

What  histories  untold 
Are  thine  since  first  thy  walls  were  tinged 

With  morning's  ruddy  gold ! 
Thou  heard'st  the  cry  of  Liberty — 

The  challenge  Freedom  hurled — 
The  Bell  that  rang  the  olden  chime 

That  wakened  half  the  world! 

And  when  September  gathered  gold 

Amid  the  Autumn  shine, 
Thou  heard'st  strange  thunders  in  the  air 

From  hills  of  Brandywine! 
And  from  the  smoking  field  of  strife, 

Led  on  by  trumpet  calls, 
The  men  of  battle  rested  here 

Within  these  ancient  walls! 

And  thou  wast  here  in  that  dark  hour — 

The  night  so  long  ago, 
When  Freedom  kept  her  watch  and  ward 

On  blood-stained  fields  of  snow; — 

44 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


When  campfires  waned  and  Hope  almost 

Her  starry  pinions  furled, 
While  brave  men  kept  at  Valley  Forge 

The  fate  of  this  New  World! 

— What  aching  hearts  have  gathered  here 

And  brought  their  dead  to  thee, 
And  laid  their  sorrows  at  His  feet 

Who  wept  at  Bethany ! — 
What  bridal  trains  have  hither  come, 

Led  on  by  love  unfeigned, — 
What  happy  twains  made  one  for  aye, 

Whose  moons  have  never  waned ! — 

— Long  live  thy  old-time  builded  walls. 

With  all  their  antique  charms, — 
Old  Concord  Meeting  on  the  hills, 

Amid   the  peaceful  farms! 
The  Mother  fond  whom  hearts  revere 

Since  from  thy  fold  they  came — 
The  loyal  sons  of  vanished  years, 

Who  share  thy  name  and  fame ! 

Stand  ever  thus,  O  ancient  fane. 

In  storm,  or  cloud,  or  shine, 
To  hasten  on  the  brighter  Dawn — 

The  sway  of  Love  Divine  I 
When  Peace  shall  reign,  good  will  abide, 

And  war's  last  flag  be  furled — 
One  God,  one  Faith,  one  Brotherhood, 

One  Hope  of  all  the  world ! 


45 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  AUTUMN. 

Now  the  sassafras  is  golden, 
And  the  maples  crimson  dyed, 

While  the  blushing  of  the  beeches 
Sets  aglow  the  mountain-side. 

Now  the  goldenrods  have  faded 

To  a  tint  of  sober  gray, 
Where  their  royal  banners  flaunted 

By  the  dusty  travelled  way. 

Open  chestnut  burrs  are  falling 
On  the  grasses  growing  sere, 

And  the  hollow  winds  are  calling 
Through  the  chambers  of  the  yea»" 

In  the  lowlands  smoke  of  asters. 
Hillside  pastures  brown  and  bare. 

Ghostly  thistledown  adrifting 
Through  the  hazy  noonday  air. 

So  the  woodlands  drop  their  glory — 
Royal  vesture-robe  and  crown — 

And  the  red  leaves  lisp  a  story 
In  the  still  air  falling  down. 


46 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  CHRISTMAS  BALLAD. 

Ring  out,  O  bells  of  Christmas  time, 
With  gladsome  chime  and  cheer. 

While  true  hearts  beat  with  deeper  joy, 
This  day  of  all  the  year! 

O  well  may  all  the  nations  sing 

Down  all  the  ages  through. 
For   gladness  born  at   Bethlehem 

That  made  our  old  world  new. 

'Twas  in  the  winter  of  the  year. 
And  earth  was  strangely  wild, 

When  in  the  white-walled  town  of  old 
Was  born  the  Holy  Child. 

And  night  upon  the  ancient  hills 
Spread  darkness  o'er  the  earth, 

\\'Tien  Angels  sang  the  glory  song 
That  heralded  His  birth. 

Good-will !  good-will !  and  peace  on  earth ! 

Stirred   all   the  midnight  dim, 
And  listening  shepherds  heard  with  awe 

The  song  of  seraphim! 

They  rose  and  went  to  Bethlehem : 

And  wise  men  from  afar 
Came  with  their  treasures  from  the  east, 

I^d  by  the  song  and  star! 

They  found  Him  in  the  manger-bed 

Within  the  lowly  stall ; 
They  gave  Him  gifts  who  came  to  bring 

The  gift  of  life  to  all ! 

47 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  so  He  came — the  wonderful! 

When  flags  of  war  were  furled, 
The  Prince  of  Peace,  the  joy  of  earth, 

The  hope  of  all  the  world! 

So  let  the  gladsome  bells  of  earth 

In  all  the  steeples  ring, 
To  keep  the  birthday  of  the  Child — 

The  world's  Redeemer-King! 

Ring  out,  O  bells,  and  ring  again! 

It  takes  the  world  so  long 
To  learn  the  sweet  "Good-will  to  Men' 

The  Bethlehem  glory-song! 


48 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  WINDING  OF  THE  SKEIN. 

It  was  a  Christian  sisterhood 

That  braved  the  winter  cold, 
To  do  the  kindly  deeds  of  love 

That  Dorcas  did  of  old: — 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company, 

Where  social  mirth  and  cheer 
Made  light  the  work  of  willing  hands 

Amid  the  dawning  year. 

Matron  and  maid  were  busy  then : — 

A  more  than  royal  band ; 
And  evening  brought  a  manly  throng 

To  lend  a  helping  hand : 
The  old-time  hearth-fire's  cheerful  glow 

Wove  shadows  on  the  wall. 
Of  one  who  held  a  tangled  skein 

And  one  who  wound  a  ball. 

Of  all  the  eager  workers  there, 

None  busier  were — 'tis  plain. 
Than  they  who  strove  so  patiently 

In  winding  of  the  skein! 
Some  magic  set  the  tangles  free 

To  nimble  fingers  fleet: — 
More  than  the  skein  the  maiden  wound 

To  make  her  ball  complete! 

So  in  the  golden  years  agone 

The  double  dream  began — 
The  love  that  held  two  hearts  as  one. 

The  maiden  and  the  man : — 
'Twas  half  a  hundred  years  ago: — 

Wliat  years  of  love  and  gain : 
Since  first  the  gentle  maid  began 

The  winding  of  the  skein. 

49 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Long  since  she  dropped  the  brittle  thread 

Of  life  for  slumbers  sweet, 
White  roses  pillowing  her  head, 

And  violets  at  her  feet: — 
The  seasons  come, — the  seasons  go, 

On  beauty's  idle  quest. 
But  half  their  light  and  music  fail 

Above  her  dreamless  rest. 

To-night  I  watch  old  shadows  pass — 

A  dim  and  silent  train, 
A  maiden  with  a  growing  ball, 

A  young  man  with  a  skein: — 
So  pass  the  dreams  of  other  days. 

While  years  of  love  recall 
The  holding  of  the  tangled  skein, 

The  winding  of  the  ball. 


50 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


MY  PARSEE. 

Within  the  hearth-fire's  ruddy  glow, 
That  heeds  not  storm  nor  drifting  snow, 
While  winds  of  Winter  wail  and  moan 
Across  the  homeless  hills  alone, 
She  sits  and  muses  on  her  mat 
In  silence  deep,  my  Persian  cat; 
Dreaming  of  lands  from  whence  she  came— 
A  Parsee  at  the  shrine  of  flame. 

The  winds  increase,  the  flames  aspire, 
And  brighter  glows  the  Winter  fire, 
But  speechless  still  as  any  sphinx. 
Upon  her  mat  she  sits  and  blinks 
And  dreams  of  other  days  and  times — 
Of  Eastern  lands  and  E^astern  climes; 
And  far  beyond  the  drifting  snow 
She  sees  the  Persian  roses  blow. 

For  in  her  breast  some  spirit  fine 
Of  ancient  Parsee  has  his  shrine. 
And   in  the  ember's  ruddy  glow 
He  sees  the  lights  of  long  ago, 
And  in  the  prisoned  sap  that  sings 
Hears  echoes  of  forgotten  things; 
And  so  the  deep  contented  purr 
Is  song  of  firelight  worshiper. 

The  oak  logs  burn  and  fall  apart 
To  show  the  warm  red  sunbeam's  heart; 
The  embers  turn  to  ashes  gray — 
The  ghost  of  summers  passed  away ; 
The  storm  goes  by,  the  stars  appear, 
But  still  the  hearth-glow  lends  its  cheer. 
While  we  sit  dreaming  just  the  same — 
Two  Parsees  at  the  shrine  of  flame! 

51 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  FOSSIL  DREAMER. 

From  the  aeons  old  and  gray, 
From  the  ages  passed  away, 
In  his  flinty  garments  curled 
Since  the  youth-time  of  the  world, 
On  his  royal  couch  of  ease, 
Rippled  by  the  lapping  seas, 
With  the  spell  of  ancient  night 
On  his  dream — this  trilobite! 

From  the  old  silurian  morn 
Ere  the  race  of  man  was  born; 
From  the  plastic  mud  and  slime 
Of  that  olden,  misty  time — 
Lone  survival  of  the  wars, 
Of  the  vandal  Ichthyosaurs 
In  the  monster-peopled  sea, 
Comes  this  dreamer  unto  me. 

Not  a  pulse-beat  seems  to  thrill 
Through  his  slumber  calm  and  still. 
Nor  of  life  the  ages  through 
Will  he  give  the  faintest  clew; 
Vainly  may  we  seek  to  trace 
Knowledge  of  his  time  and  race. 
Note  of  joy  or  trouble  rife 
On  the  rugged  coast  of  life. 
When  he  sported  at  his  ease 
In  the  vast  untided  seas. 
Till  a  blissful  dreamer  deep. 
He  was  throned  in  endless  sleep. 

Lo!  the  ages  that  have  sped 
O'er  his  limestone-pillowed  head  ! 
Now  the  saurians  greedy  maw 

52 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Or  the  pterodactyl's  claw 
Have  no  fears  for  him  at  last — 
Phantoms  of  the  misty  past, 
For  the  aeons  that  have  flown 
Have  embalmed  his  dream  in  stone! 


53 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


BUTTERCUPS. 

Only  a  gleam  of  buttercups  swaying, 

Over  the  clover-heads  tossed  and  rolled, 

And  back  the  feet  through  the  past  are  straying 
Through  old-time  fields  of  the  cloth  of  gold. 

Once  again  in  the  buttercup  meadows 

The  swift,  wee  feet  through  the  grasses  run. 

And  children  brown  as  the  swinging  shadows 
Gather  the  gold  of  the  rain  and  sun. 

The  bees  hum  low  in  the  red-cheeked  clover, 
The  butterflies  flit,  the  shadows  play. 

And  oriole  whistles  over  and  over 

The  joy  of  the  beautiful  world  to-day. 

Fair,  tall  buttercups,  thick  in  the  grasses. 
Swinging  their  beakers  of  rarest  gold. 

Spilling  their  wealth  as  the  soft  wind  passes — 
Sweet  as  the  secrets  of  love  they  hold 

And  under  the  orchard  branches  swinging 
The  children  are  testing,  side  by  side. 

The  legend  old — glad  voices  ringing, 
While  the  cheeks  of  tan  are  glorified  ! — 

And  out  of  this  old-time  vision  tender. 
Gleaming  so  clear  from  the  summers  old. 

The  life  to-day  wears  a  newer  splendor 

Caught  from  the  field  of  the  cloth  of  gold. 


54 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  ROOM. 

'Twas  in  the  April  of  the  year 

A  Stratford  child  was  born, 
And  earth  has  held  an  added  cheer 

Since  that  far  April  morn. 

Now,  while  the  voice  of  April  calls, 

'Mid  song  and  whir  of  wing, 
I  muse  within  these  royal  walls — 

The  birthroom  of  a  King! 

A  humble  room  in  sooth  it  seems. 

Low  ceiling,  dingy  wall, 
Yet  here  began  the  wondrous  dreams 

That  hold  the  world  in  thrall! 

Here,  in  these  dusky  shadows  dim, 

The  mother  kissed  the  boy. 
Whose  coming  beaded  to  the  brim 

The  cup  of  human  joy. 

The  hearthfire  flickered  faint  and  low. 

Without  a  hint  of  flame. 
The  embers  kept  a  hidden  glow 

The  April  day  he  came. 

His  youth  was  such  as  others  know. 

His  childhood  not  o'er-wrought, 
He  roamed  and  dreamed  the  young  years  through 

And   learned   as   Nature  taught. 

His  mind  was  quick  to  understand 

The  voices  of  the  air, 
And  Nature  led  him  by  the  hand 

And  showed   him   treasures  rare. 

55 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


He  roamed  along  the  Avon  stream, 

Or  leaned  above  its  brim, 
And  evermore  its  quiet  dream 

Was  sweetest  charm  to  him. 

He  came  to  earth  so  long  ago: — 

Three  hundred  years  they  say; 
Long  since  he  went  as  all  must  go, 

But  still  he  lives  to-day! 

The  years  can  never  make  him  old : 

The  echoes  of  his  strains — 
The  songs  he  sang, — the  tales  he  told. 

They  live  while  love  remains. 

He  read  so  well  the  human  heart. 

The  world  cannot  forget — 
The  rare  perfection  of  his  art 

In  song  is  living  yet. 

Had  he  not  come  to  Stratford  town, 

Beside  the  Avon  stream ; 
Had  he  not  worn  the  poet's  crown 

And  dreamed  the  poet's  dream, — 

How  poor  the  world  of  song  had  been. 

How  void  the  realm  of  Art, 
What  voice  had  made  the  whole  world  kin?- 

Who  read  the  human  heart? 

He  found  in  everything  some  good, — 

In  homely  ill  some  grace; 
He  oped  the  gates  of  Arden  wood 

To  all  the  weary  race. 

56 


The  Cruise  of  the  Hai.f-Moox 


The  tongues  that  whisper  in  the  trees 

In  leafy  shadows  dim, — 
The  murmur  of  the  laden  bees 

Were  full  of  song  to  him. 

Sermons  in  stones  his  spirit  heard, 
Whose  wisdom  he  could  tell, 

And  Nature's  every  sound  and  word 
His  being  pondered  well. 

Books  in  the  running  brook  he  found 
And  read  their  limpid  lore, — 

To  music  of  the  runnel's  sound 
He  conned  their  lessons  o'er. 

Such  grace  was  in  his  word  and  deed. 

Such  wisdom  in  his  plan. 
That  all  the  world  in  him  may  read 

The  love  of  fellow-man. 

What  matchless  beings  wise  and  good 
Stepped  forth  at  his  command ! 

What  royal  types  of  womanhood 
He  lead  through  all  the  land! 

Here  by  his  humble  ingle-side 

I  muse  and  dream  anew, 
AVhile  maid  and  matron  hither  glide 

And  pass  in  dim  review: — 

Chaste  Beatrice,  the  unbeguiled. 
Grave  Portia,  learned  and  wise; 

Miranda.  Nature's  charming  child, 
And  Celia  in  disguise; 

57 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Sweet  Perdita,  the  shepherdess, 

Hermione,  the  tried, 
Cordelia,  scorned  for  loving  less. 

And  young  Lorenzo's  bride ; 

And  one  goes  by  with  sad  regrets — 

Her  father's  joy  and  pride, 
With  rosemary,  rue,  and  violets 

That  withered  when  he  died ; — 

Helena,  robed  in  patience  meet. 
That  baseness  could  not  fret, 

And  Desdemona,  chaste  and  sweet, 
And  Romeo's  Juliet; — 

Viola,  Hero,  Imogen, 

With  Isabelle  the  good. 
And  Rosalind  of  Arden  green — 

Sweet  rose  of  womanhood ; 

They  pass : — the  wains  go  up  and  down, 
And  call  me  from  my  dream 

At  twilight  in  old  Stratford  town 
Beside  the  Avon  stream. 


58 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


LITTLE  DORRIT. 

Little  Dorrit's  place  is  sure 
With  the  saints  of  literature: — 
She  will  surely  have  a  place 
With  the  saints  of  love  and  grace. 

Daughter  of  the  Marshalsea, 
Schooled  in  want  and  poverty, 
Who  can  picture  half  the  grace 
In  her  angel  heart  and  face? 

All  her  life  a  service  true, 
What  a  motley  throng  she  knew, 
In  the  lanes  of  want  and  care. 
In  the  prison,  everywhere. 

Little  Dorrit,  fair  to  see, 
All  the  world  is  loving  thee; 
Change  of  station  never  wrought 
In  thee  any  change  of  thought. 

Child  of  nature,  pure  of  heart, 
What  to  thee  could  wealth  impart? 
Not  the  charm  of  folly's  song — 
Thine  the  loving  heart  and  strong. 

Faithful  maiden,  true  and  tried. 
Worthy  lover's  worthy  bride ; 
Few  the  lives  that  we  behold 
Match  thy  heart's  untainted  gold. 

So  we  hold,   whate'er  betide, 
Thou  art  worthy  to  abide, 
With  the  saints  of  love  and  grace 
In  thy  well-deserved  place. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

FIFTIETH  ANNIVERSARY,  CLASS  OF  '62. 

Troy  University,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

O  classmates  of  the  long  ago: 

How  fair  that  golden  year 
Whose  summer  set  our  hearts  aglow 

With  hope  and   lofty  cheer: 
How  far  our  sundered  paths  have  run ; 

What  visions  fled  away ; 
Since  with  the  rising  of  the  sun 

We  hailed   Commencement  Day! 

Strong  in  the  strength  of  faith  and  hope, 

With  will  to  dare  and  do. 
We  took  the  pathway  up  the  slope — 

The   Class   of   Sixty-two ; 
And  now  how  fair  the  landscape  shows 

While  through  our  smiles  and  tears. 
The  sweet  south-wind  of  memory  blows 

Across  our  fifty  years! 

But  half  a  hundred  years  have  flown. 

Of  mingled  griefs  and  joys, 
And  now  we  stand — a  remnant  lone — 

A  band  of  graybeard  boys : 
What  years  of  bitter  war  have  sped 

Beneath  the  frown  of  Mars; 
What  grief  and  sorrow  for  the  dead 

Who  kept  our  bannered  stars! 

And  two  have  won  immortal  fame 

Amid   the  crimson  strife; — 
In  wasting  Battle's  blood  and  flame 

They  gave  the  bloom  of  life: 

60 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  others  for  the  Prince  of  Peace 
Have  laid  their  armor  down, 

Where  toil  and  striving  have  surcease 
For  Life's  immortal  crown! 

And  they,  the  royal  hearted  men — 

The  men  of  brawn  and  brain, 
Who  led  our  eager  footsteps  then, 

But   two  alone   remain ; 
God  rest  the  souls  of  them  that  sleep 

Wherever  they  may  lie, 
And  in  His  arms  the  living  keep 

And  crown  them  by  and  by: 

O  Brothers  of  the  Old  Thirteen, 

Our  feet  have  wandered  wide. 
And  fifty  years  have  come  between 

The  morn  and  eventide : — 
Our  days  are  ebbing  with  the  sands. 

Though  love  be  none  the  less ; 
Across  the  years  we  stretch  our  hands 

And  hail  by  wireless  ; 

And  still  we  climb  the  rugged  way — 

The  toilers  that  remain. 
Wayworn  and  weary,  day  by  day, 

The  upper  heights  to  gain  ; — 
The  peaks  are  many  we  have  passed, — 

The  landscape  white  and  strange. 
But  we  shall  reach  the  goal  at  last 

The  other  side  the  Range. 


61 


The  Cruise  of  the  HALF-Mooisr 


ON  THE  SLOPE. 

Here  on  thy  mantle,  rich  and  many-hued, 
O  fair  Earth  Mother,  let  me  lie  and  dream, 
While  hill  and  valley,  wood  and  drowsy  stream 

Are  held  in  autumn's  blissful  quietude; 

No  sound  is  here  to  mar  with  accent  rude 
The  perfect  peace,  unless  the  leaf  agleam 
Soft  falling  in  the  misty  air,  might  seem 

To  jar  the  silence  with  its  interdlude. 

An  aster-throng  the  lowland  pasture  fills. 
And  goldenrods  along  the  highway  swoon ; 

An  Indian  haze  is  over  all  the  hills, 

A  dreamful  hush  beneath  the  silent  noon ; 

The  thistle-moth  on  reeling  wing  goes  by 

And  perfect  quiet  holds  the  chambered  sky. 


62 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


APRIL-TIDE. 

Where  the  brown  earth  lifeless  lay 
Lo !  the  stone  is  rolled  away ; 
And  through  all  her  pulses  wide 
Throbs  the  joy  of  April-tide. 
Life   from   death   returns  again 
Over  valley,   hill  and   plain  ; 
Field   and   meadow  smile   anew 
Under  gracious  skies  of  blue. 

Greening  oaks  and  grasses  feel 
Mighty  forces  through  them  steal; 
Root  and  fibre  thrill  below 
With  a  life  the  sunbeams  know; 
Bud  and  blossom  are  a  sign 
Of  the  energies  divine 
Flushing  vale  and  woodland  wide 
With  the  rising  April-tide. 

Nature  thus  repeats  anew, 
With  an  accent  always  true, 
Sign  and  symbol  often  told 
In  the  ages  dim  and  old : 
Lo !  the  weary  watch  is  done 
In  the  dawning  of  the  sun, 
While  the  glad  earth  far  and  wide 
Thrills  with  life  at  April-tide. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


UNTO  THE   HILLS. 

Look  up  to  the  mountain-land, 
Imperial  peaks  that  stand 
Wrinkled  and  gray  with  time, 
In  strength  of  the  hills  sublime: — 
The  molten  billows  that  rolled 
And  cooled  in  the  ages  old, 
In  the  dim  primeval  morn 
Ere  the  race  of  man  was  born. 

Uplifted  in  misty  air 
What  garments  of  light  they  wear! 
On  shadowless  crowns  and  cones 
The  purple  of  royal  thrones; 
Patience,  endurance  and  song 
They  bear  through  the  ages  long. 
In  peace  and  repose  they  stand 
The  peaks  of  the  mountain-land. 

And  down  through  the  gorges  old 

What  melodies  sung  and  told ; 

The  babble  of  quiet  streams 

That  murmur  through  woodland  dreams, 

Or  brawl  of  rivers  and  rills — 

The  songs  God  set  in  the  hills 

To  give  to  His  praise  a  tongue 

When  the  gray  old  world  was  young. 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  to  the  hills 
Where  the  dew  of  life  distils; 
When  the  dawn,  or  sunset  shine, 
Enkindles  with  blazon  fine 
On  peaks  of  purple  or  snow. 
The  altars  of  God  aglow, 
Unto  Him  lift  up  thy  song 
Unto  whom  the  hills  belong. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


BLOWING    BUBBLES. 

Golden  hair,  Avith  eyes  of  blue, 
Thrice  hath  April  greeted  you ; 
Many  Aprils  yet  remain 
Waiting  for  you  down  the  lane; 
Would  you  see  them  rise  and  pass, 
Looking  in  a  magic  glass- 
See  the  airy  castles  gleam 
Through  an  atmosphere  of  dream? 
Let  me  take  your  dimpled  hand 
For  a  walk  through  wonder-land ; 
Many  years  have  passed  by  me, 
Would  you  boyhood's  pictures  see? 
We  may  note  them  passing  by 
Blowing  bubbles — you  and  L 

Here's  the  long-stemmed  pipe  of  clay, 
But  we'll  smoke  another  way ; 
Here  is  water  clear  and  clean. 
Snowy  soap  and  glycerine ; 
Mix  and  stir  to  foamy  white, 
Till  the  surface  winks  with  light, 
Dip  the  pipe-bowl  gently,  so, 
Then  put  to  the  lips  and  blow; 
Lo,  the  filmy  crystal  clear 
Broadens  to  a  magic  sphere! 

Swift  they  follow,  one  by  one. 
Other  bubbles  in  the  sun. 
Floating,  drifting,  low  and  high, 
Picturing  the  earth  and  sky. 
Holding  In  their  airy  grace 
Dimples  of  a  sunny  face — 
Fairy  mirrors  where  appears 
Beauty  of  the  triple  years; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Then  they  pass  beyond  the  door, 
Over  sunshine  on  the  floor, 
Swing  and  vanish  out  of  sight 
Like  a  dream  at  morning  light. 

Now  again  the  bubbles  blown 
Show  how  curly-head  has  grown 
Into  boyhood's  wondrous  land. 
Where  the  dreamy  castles  stand ; 
Woods  and  waters  all  in  tune, 
Maytime  passing  on  to  June ; 
On  the  eager  footsteps  run 
Through  the  tawny  fields  of  sun. 
Over  valley,  over  hill, 
Into  lands  remote  and  still, 
Till  the  vista  broadens  far 
Underneath  the  evening  star: — 
Unto  you  the  future  j'ears. 
Unto  me  the  past  appears; 
O  what  pictures !   how  they  fly ! 
Blowing  bubbles — you  and  I. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


FOR  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

Lest  we  forget  how  valor  won 

On  fields  of  fame  and  glory, 
The  deeds  they  wrought  till  war  was  done, 

Of  camp  and  march  the  story, 
From  May  to  May,  as  years  increase. 

We  fan  affection's  embers, 
To  show  the  brave  who  sleep  in  peace 

How  loyal  love  remembers. 

While  maiden  Summer's  sweet  surprise 

Her  matchless  glory  renders. 
Behold   the  nation's  sacrifice! 

The  graves  of  her  defenders ! 
They  rest  for  aye ;  secure  their  fame 

Behind  the  silent  portal, 
While  Honor  guards  each  deed  and  name, 

Forevermore  immortal. 

We  meet  to-day  beneath  the  blue. 

Our  reverent  love  revealing, 
Not  now  to  kindle  strife  anew. 

But  pour  the  wine  of  healing: 
In  lands  of  palm  and  lands  of  pine. 

All  in  the  Maytime  weather, 
The  flowers  of  love  and  peace  we  twine 

To  bloom  for  aye  together. 

On  countless  crimson  fields  of  strife 

They  knew  no  fear  or  pallor. 
They  staked  the  whole  of  lusty  life 

In  deeds  of  deathless  valor; 
And  side  by  side  in  dreamless  rest. 

Immortal   in   their  dying, 
In  glade  and  glen,  on  mountain  crest 

Our  hero-dead  are  lying! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

One  land,  one  Flag,  they  won  for  aye. 

Their  all  for  country  giving; 
We  honor  them  with  flowers  to-day 

For  what  they  gave  the  living; 
For  foot-falls  of  familiar  feet 

How  many  hearts  are  yearning, 
That  wait  with  loyal  love  to  greet 

The  nevermore  returning! 

And  here  above  this  loyal  band 

May  Treason's  grim   endeavor 
Disturb  no  more  our  peaceful  land. 

With  war's  dread  thunders  never; 
Henceforth  may  peace  eternal  be. 

Nor  sundering  passions  sever, 
Till  He  shall  reign  from  sea  to  sea 

Whose  kingdom  is  forever! 

So  long  the  angrj'  notes  of  life 

Have  kept  the  passions  flaming, 
So  oft  we  stir  the  fires  of  strife, 

Our  age  of  progress  shaming: 
Too  long  Bellona's  crimson  car 

Has  rolled  its  direful  thunder. 
And  bugles  crying  near  and  far 

Have  made  us  weep  and  wonder. 

Through  endless  years  from  age  to  age 

The  world  has  dreamed  of  glory, 
And  made  of  history's  blotted  page 

A  sad  and  crimson  story: 
Peace!    Peace!    to-day  'mid  flowers  and  tears 

This  prayer  affection  renders, 
That  nevermore  the  strife  of  years 

May  call  for  brave  defenders. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  TRYST. 

All  woodsy  and  wild  as  a  red  chief's  daughter, 
Crooning  the  songs  of  the  forest  free, 

And  dimpled  with  laughter  the  foaming  water 
Tripped  down  to  her  tryst  with  the  sea. 

Tender  the  greeting  where  white  breakers  thunder 
While  her  lover  bent  low  to  her  charms, 

Then  folded  her  close,  a  vision  of  wonder. 
And  rocked  her  to  sleep  in  his  arms. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


APRIL. 

Unheard  she  passes  and  unseen, 
With  magic  wand  of  dream, 

And  lo,  there  hangs  a  mist  of  green 
Above  the  willow  stream. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


OCTOBER. 

What  magic  tints  the  Autumn  shuttle  weaves 

On  woodland,  hill-slope,  meadow,  field  and  plain, 

What  passion  whispers  in  her  falling  leaves — 
October's  joy — her  sorrow  and  her  pain. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


LIPS   OF  PRAISE. 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  to  the  hills  of  God, 
Thou  favored  of  Heaven  long; 

Put  on  thy  garment  of  praise,  O  Land, 
And  open  thy  lips  in  song. 

Peace  holds  the  land  in  her  gracious  sway; 

The   Harvest  her  treasure  brings 
And  Plenty  has  spread  her  bounty  far 

And  wide  as  her  outstretched  wings. 

For  herds  on  a  thousand  rolling  hills, 
And  valleys  of  corn  and  wine. 

For  luscious  fruits  on  the  laden  boughs 
Grown  sweet  in  the  Autumn  shine. 

Since  never  the  seed-time  fails  the  earth, 

Nor  vital  force  of  the  clod. 
The  grasses  spring  and  the  meadows  bloom 

By  the  gracious  hand  of  God. 

For  sun  and  rain  and  the  shrines  of  home, 
And  love  and  the  words  that  cheer, 

For  health  and  strength  and  the  joy  of  life, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  the  year. 

Aye,  open  thy  lips  in  a  praiseful  strain 
While  the  winds  of  Autumn  call, 

And  roll  thy  song  over  mountain  and  plain. 
For  Heaven  is  over  all. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


PUSSY-WILLOW. 

South  winds  searched  the  valleys  over, 

Higher  climbed  the  sun, 
Mossy  pollards  leaned  and  listened 

By  the  meadow  run ; 
Soft  and   low   the  water  gurgled 

Down  the  shallow  stream. 
When  the  Pussy-Willow  wakened 

From  her  quiet  dream. 

Pussy-Willow,   satin-vestured. 

Clad  in  raiment  fine. 
Princess  in  her  robes  of  beauty 

Of  a  royal  line; 
First  to  hear  the  raindrops  patter 

After  winter's  thrall. 
First  to  hear  the  south  wind  whisper, 

And  the  bluebird's  call. 

Later  came  the  shy  arbutus 

Under  leafy  mold  ; 
Wind-flowers  in  the  meadow  nodded, 

Silken   ferns  unrolled; 
Alders  by  the  waters  leaning 

Sifted  dust  below, 
Bloodroots  from  a  heart  of  crimson 

Lifted  petaled  snow. 

Spice-bush  in  the  woodland  fringes 

Showed  its  budded  gold, 
Violets  and  snowdrops  wakened. 

As  in  Aprils  old : 
Hosts  and  hosts  of  blooms  came  trooping 

Out  of  dreamland  far, 
All  because  sweet  Pussy-Willow 

Left  the  gates  ajar! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


INDIAN   SUMMER. 

Hill  and  valley,  mount  and  stream, 
In  an  atmosphere  of  dream: 
On  the  sunny  slopes  around. 
Brown  nuts  falling  on  the  ground; 
Squirrels  chatter  on  the  wall, 
Crows  from  airy  treetops  call : 
In  the  orchard,  row  on  row. 
Golden  apples  hanging  low; 
Poison  climbers  burn  and  flame. 
As  in  penitence  and  shame; 
Withered  bracken  by  the  path, 
Gypsy  growth  of  aftermath — 
Weed  and  thistle,  nettles,  tare. 
Sturdy  outlaws  everywhere. 

Druid  oaks  and  beeches  blush 

In  a  sacrificial  hush; 

Sassafras   and    sweet-gum   seem 

Musing  on  some  olden  dream ; 

Wintergreen  and  bittersweet 

Lay  their  corals  at  your  feet ; 

Scarlet   cardinals  by   the   run 

Meditate  on  duty  done ; 

Fox-grape  clusters,  frosted,  fine. 

Swing  their  beakers  brimmed  with  wine ; 

Leaves  of  crimson,  russet,  brown. 

On  the  woodpaths  sifting  down ; 

Crickets  trilling  low  and  long 

Measures  of  a  minor  song. 

Amber  air  and  smoky  haze 
Over  all  the  waning  days; 
Fainter  echoes  call  and  pass, 
Thinner  shadows  on  the  grass ; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Milkweed  floss  and  thistle-down 
Sailing  over  fields  of  brown ; 
Swelling  buds  of  hazel  hold 
Winter  hoards  of  crumpled  gold ; 
Leaves  transfigured,  blotched  and  sere — 
Embers  of  the  passing  year; 
Foaming  boneset,  dreaming,  nods 
By  the  faded  goldenrods; — 
By  their  signs  and  symbols  know 
Summer's  golden  afterglow. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

FRIENDS'   LAKE. 

(Chestertown,  N.  Y.) 

Woodland  Beauty,  wondrous  fair, 
With  thy  deeps  of  sky  and  air; 
Bird  and  cloud  and  storm  and  star 
Look  upon  thee  from  afar; 
Wind  and  rain  with  airy  grace 
Dimple   o'er  thy  smiling   face ; 
Trailing  shadows  of  the  cloud, 
Mists  that  fold  thee  like  a  shroud. 
Daybreak  glories — tints  of  dawn. 
Evening's   dusky   curtains   drawn. 
Only  lend  thee  added  charm, 
Nor  thy  wondrous  graces  harm. 
While  the  vale  thy  presence  fills — 
Sleeping  Beauty  of  the  hills. 

Here  the  shades  of  woodland  throng. 
Pines  alive  with  Ariel's  song. 
Birches  in  their  vestments  stoled. 
White  as  Vestal  maids  of  old, 
Hemlocks  spiring  with  the  years. 
Balsams  dropping  crystal  tears, 
Willows  waving  to  and  fro 
O'er  some  Indian   grave  below; 
Beech  and  maple  bending  low 
Make  the  autumn  woodland  glow. 
Sturdy  oaks  with  spreading  arms 
Wave  above  thy  matchless  charms. 
While  along  thy  placid  dream 
The  tented  camps  of  pleasure  gleam. 

As  thy  beauty  charms  to-day. 

So  in  ages  far  away 

When  the  red  man  wandered  o'er 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Crystal  wave  and  winding  shore ; — 
When  the  red  deer  came  to  drink 
At  the  limpid  water's  brink 
And  the  smoke  of  wigwams  curled 
O'er  the  quiet  forest  world : — 
Moose  and  deer  and  fox  have  found 
Peace  in  wooded  slopes  around ; 
Wolf  and  panther — faces  wild, 
Thou  hast  looked  upon  and  smiled : — 
These  have  vanished,  suns  have  set, 
But  thy  charms  are  living  yet. 

Still  thy  smile  my  vision  fills. 
Woodland  Beauty  of  the  hills; — 
Seasons  come  and  seasons  go, 
Summer's  bloom  and  winter's  snow; — - 
Childhood's  morning  turns  to  noon, 
Youthful  visions  fade  full  soon; 
Age  goes  limping  down  the  slope 
Where  the  thicker  shadows  grope. 
While  the  star-lit  curtains  drawn 
Shuts  from  sight  the  coming  dawn ; 
Thou  art  ever  young  and  fair. 
Never  wrinkled  with  a  care. 
For  in  spite  of  ages  rolled. 
Beauty  never  groweth  old. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


ACROSS   THE    HILLS. 

The  earth  is  turning  from  the  sun, 

November  days  are  here, 
And  yet  she  keeps  a  cheery  heart 

Amid  the  waning  year. 

For  well  November  may  be  glad, 
Though  robed  in  brown  and  gray, 

Since  in  her  Indian  summer  grace 
She  brings  this  amber  day. 

And  in  her  autumn  mood  she  seems 

To  dream  of  summer  long. 
And  never  once  she  passes  by 

But  with  thanks-giving  song. 

For  all  the  old  Novembers  past 

Since  first  your  life  began 
Have  added  each  another  year 

To  fill  the  measured  span. 

The  gracious  years : — what  have  they  brought 

Between  the  matin  chime — 
The  freshness  of  the  morning  dew. 

And  light  of  evening-time? 

The  early  glow,  so  full  of  hope 

When  shade  and  tint  and  line 
Were  all  transfigured  in  the  light 

That  made  the  earth  divine. 

The  joy  of  life's  glad  summer  noon, 

In  surf  of  bloom  unrolled  ; 
The  dream  of  Art,  the  thrill  of  song, 

And  love's  uncounted  gold. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


The  garnered  friendships  of  the  past, 

A  noble,  grand  array, — 
The  loyal  friends  who  tell  their  love 

In  written  words  to-day. 

The  vision  from  the  sunset  hills 

Across  the  vales  below, 
The  kindling  hues  of  autumn  flame, 

The  golden  after-glow. 

The  gladness  of  the  measured  years 
Whose  bounties  still  increase, 

The  light  across  the  misty  range, 
Of  quietude  and  peace. 

And  while  the  seasons  pass  and  wane 

Still  kindly  voices  call. 
Love  keeps  the  heart  forever  young, 

And  God  is  over  all ! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


MORNING. 

The  dewdrops  hang  on  the  spider's  laces, 
The  grasses  drip  with  a  chrism  old, 

While  the  blush  lawn  roses  lift  their  faces, 
Glad  in  the  beauty  of  gray  and  gold. 

Fair  Ganymedes  in  the  early  morning, 
With  vine-hung  beakers  of  airy  hue. 

Lift  to  the  ruby  lips  of  the  morning 

The  cool  sweet  wine  of  the  crystal  dew. 

Daisies  lean  in  a  white  foam  over 
Meadows  asleep  in  tangle  of  grass, 

And  sweets  unblown  and  the  breath  of  clover 
Meet  and  mingle  and  mingle  and  pass. 

Honey-bees  over  the  fair  blooms  winging, 
The  butterflies  flit  with  wings  agleam, 

And  bird-notes  full  of  the  joy  of  singing 
Waken  and  follow  the  morning's  dream. 

And   never  the  pageant  stays  or   falters, 
But  over  the  earth — across  the  sky. 

While  incense  lifts  from  a  thousand  altars 
The  glory  of  morning  passes  by. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 
OCTOBER  DAYS. 

TO  G.  &  E.   H. 

When  rich  October,  far  and  wide, 

In  crimson  garments  came, 
And  spread  on  hill  and  mountain-side 

Her  royal  tints  of  flame. 

Above  the  land  she  whispered  low 
Of  fruit  and  ripened  sheaf; 

Of  life  transfigured  in  the  glow 
And  falling  of  the  leaf. 

We  heard  what  tender  voices  told — 

The  whispers  of  the  wind. 
And  yet  to  symbols  ages  old 

Our  love  was  wholly  blind. 

Though  idly  by  the  garden  wall 
Swung  low  the  sparrow's  nest. 

We  never  thought  the  leaves  might  fall 
Above  our  dreamer's  rest. 

So  late  he  roamed  the  woodland  ways 

Beneath  October's  smile, 
With  sunshine  of  the  autumn  days 

So  full  of  peace  the  while. 

And  now  the  leafless  branches  moan 

In  measures  low  and  long, 
But  love  is  in  the  under-tone. 

And   faith   is  in   the  song. 

O  troubled  hearts,  be  glad  and  sing! 
Nor  keep  one  sad  regret ; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


So  safe  beneath  the  folded  wing, 
And  love  cannot  forget. 

While  autumn  comes  in  glad  array 
Her  golden   stores   to   bring, 

October's  crown  shall  be  for  aye 
A  sweet  remembering. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE   WATERS   OF   CRUM. 

From  the  wrinkles  of  the  hills, 
From  the  tribute  of  the  rills, 
From  the  caverns  underground. 
Bubbling  up  with   elfin  sound. 
With  the  gladness  and  the  grace 
Of  a  sunny,  laughing  face; — 
So   the   limpid   waters   come, 
Winding  down  the  shores  of  Crum, 
From  the  hills  through  misty  air, 
Calling  to  the  Delaware. 

O'er  the  mirror  of  the  stream 
Trailing  branches  wave  and  dream, 
Jewel-weed  with  many  gems 
Lights  the  fringing  meadow  hems; 
Ferns  and  grasses  bend  to  view 
Beauty  in  the  inverted  blue — 
Colors   wrought    in    Nature's   loom, 
Foaming  boneset  all   in   bloom, 
While  the  dewy  season  nods 
With  its  wealth  of  golden-rods. 

Dovi-n  the  limpid  water  foams. 

Laughing  past  the  valley  homes ; 

On  through  the  meadows  sweet  with  hay. 

Taking  restful  holiday 

With  an  idler's  own  sweet  will. 

Wandering  through  the  shadows  still, 

Or  to  playtime  giving  truce 

While  it  turns  the  mills  of  use — 

Beauty  bending  at  the  wheel, 

Grinding  out  the  farmer's  meal. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Winding  east  and  winding  west 
Round  the  shy  bird's  lonely  nest, 
In  the  marshes  gray  and  brown 
Under  grasses  bending  down ; — 
Winding  north  and  winding  south, 
In  the  flood  and  in  the  drouth, 
'Neath  the  willows  trailing  low, 
Where  the  water-lilies  grow; — 
Such  the  crooked  ways  they  take 
Winding  like  the  water-snake. 

Here  a  pool  of  quiet  joy 
Lures  the  happy  sunbrown  boy; 
Hither  idle  anglers  stray 
For  a  pensive  holiday; 
Rustic  lovers  often  dream 
To  the  music  of  the  stream. 
While  the  waters  seaward  run 
In  the  shadow  and  the  sun. 
And  their  going  seems  to  say 
Life  is  mingled  work  and  play, 
And  the  years  that  flit  and  flee 
Lead  to  the  eternal  sea. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 
THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

TO   L.   AND   H.   H.    P. 

To-day  we  meet  in  gladness  here 

Since  every  heart  reveres 
The  faith  and  hope  and  joy  that  rounds 

These  fifty  golden  years: 
Love  set  the  kindly  lights  aglow 

At  manhood's  morning  chime, 
And  down  the  slope  they  linger  yet 

To  light  the  evening  time. 

Long  since  that  May-time  morning  dawned 

That  merged  two  dreams  in  one, 
When  rose  the  full-orbed  honey-moon 

To  face  the  Eden-sun ; 
So  long  ago! — yet  fair  it  gleams 

Through  doubts  and  hopes  and  fears. 
While  memory  looks  with  misty  eyes 

Across  the  fifty  years. 

The  years  go  by — the  winter  snow 

And  summers  pass  away, 
But  Bride  and  Groom  of  long  ago 

Are  with  us  here  to-day; 
We  come  to  greet  this  wedded  pair 

And  give  them  words  of  cheer, 
Lest  they  forget  'mid  toil  and  care, 

That  marriage  morn  and  year! 

Above  the  beauty  of  the  May 
The  blue  of  heaven  bent  near. 

And  all  the  windings  of  the  way 
Led  through  the  vales  of  cheer; 

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Though  all  was  fair  as  morning  time 

Amid  the  dew  impearled — 
Though  light  divine  lay  on  their  path, 

A  shadow  gloomed  the  world. 

War  held  the  land  in  bitter  thrall 

Amid  the  May-time  glow, 
When  first  the  marriage  vows  were  told. 

Just  fifty  years  ago ! 
The  dead-march  wailed  across  the  land 

In  troubled  notes  of  pain, — 
The  drums  beat  low — the  bugles  cried — 

Above  the  noble  slain. 

So  passed  the  battle  years  of  strife 

'Mid  blood  and  wasting  flame. 
That  Liberty  might  have  new  birth 

Above  the  Nation's  shame: — 
And  in  those  fifty  golden  years. 

Since  love  and  life  began, 
What  dawning  light  of  hope  appears 

To  bless  and  hearten  man. 

Fair  learning  thrives — and  Science  thrills 

The  viewless  realm.s  of  air 
And  'neath  the  everlasting  hills 

The  wireless  pulses  fare: — 
And  always,  through  the  years  of  time. 

Through  strife,  and  greed,  and  sin. 
Peace  hath  her  victories  more  sublime 

Than  armed  legions  win ! 

O  haste  the  day  when  everywhere — 

On  every  sea  and  shore. 
Sweet  peace  and  charity  shall  reign. 

The  Eden  lost,  restore ; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Then  shall  the  triumph  be  complete 
Of  patriot,  statesman,  sage, 

And  daily  life  transfigured  greet 
The  new  earth's  Golden  Age! 

O  happy  these  who  cherish  still 

The  early  dreams  new  born, — 
Who  in  the  thrush's  vesper  hymn 

Can  hear  the  larks  of  morn : — 
Who  know  that  days  and  added  years 

Make  not  life's  little  span 
But  deeds  that  bless  humanity. 

And  sweet  good-will  to  man. 

So  fleetly  pass  the  wedded  years — 

So  brief  the  seasons  stay, 
Now  kith  and  kin  forgather  here 

To  keep  this  honored  day: — 
And  children's  children  hither  come 

With  joy  unmixed  with  tears 
To  crown  you  with  the  golden  crown 

Of  fifty  wedded  years! 

One  Cometh  not,  but  yet  unseen 

Her  presence  lingers  near. 
With  power  to  lend  an  added  charm 

To  love's  own  tribute  dear: — - 
Unseen  indeed, — but  well  we  know, 

By  faith  we  understand. 
The  fair  young  life  unfinished  here 

Blooms  in  the  Better  Land ! 

Take  heart  and  hope,  O  friends,  to-day, 
While  waits  the  vesper  chime, 

And  trust  the  Guiding  Light  to  be 
The  light  of  evening  time  ; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  though  the  westering  slope  be  long 

And  rugged  be  the  way, 
Always  the  night  reveals  the  stars 

We  never  see  by  day. 

A  thousand  years  are  but  a  gleam 

Of  yesterday's  untold ; 
And  fifty  years  are  but  a  dream 

Of  mercies  manifold ; 
And  three-score  years  and  ten  are  fleet 

As  shadows  on  the  lawn, 
And  all  of  life's  uncertain  years, 

A  waiting  for  the  Dawn ! 

And  so  w^e  take  His  words  of  cheer 

Whose  fame  the  wide  earth  fills — 
The  singer  of  the  thrush's  song 

Upon  New  England's  hills: — 
"Dear  hearts  are  here — dear  hearts  are  there 

Alike,  below — above, — 
Our  friends  are  now  in  either  world 

And  Love  is  sure  of  Love." 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AT  GAD'S  HILL. 

A  hundred  years  have  come  and  gone, 

And  still  the  years  are  going, 
And  over  all  his  Kentish  hills 

The  summer  winds  are  blowing. 

A  hundred  years  ago  began 

His  life's  eventful  story. 
And  since  the  world  has  won  a  charm 

And  gained  an  added  glory. 

'Twas   here  he   lived   and   here  he   wrought, 
The  sunshine  round  him  streaming. 

And  here  were  born  to  rosy  life 
The  children  of  his  dreaming. 

And  here  to-day  they  throng  us  round. 

Those   dear  undying  faces, 
Of  innocence  and  truth  and  love 

And   childhood's  winning  graces. 

While  phantoms  pass  along  the  wall — 
The  lights  and  shadows  playing, 

We  wonder  much  with  Little  Paul 
Wliat  all  the  waves  are  saying. 

And  from  the  lips  of  loving  cheer 
We  hear  the  grateful  praising, — 

"God  bless  us  every  one" — the  prayer 
That  Tiny  Tim  is  raising. 

Now  Little  Nell  goes  tripping  by, 
Her  grandsire  with  her  roaming, 

As  through  the  fields  they  used  to  pass 
At  early  dawn,  or  gloaming. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  lovely  vision — Youth  and  Age — 

A  picture  to  remember, 
Sw^eet  dimpled  April's  waving  hair 

And  old  and  gray  December: 

They  come  and  go,  a  nameless  band 
Whose  mission  faileth  never, 

They  linger  in  unfading  youth 
All  held  in  fame  forever ! 

And  on  across  the  dusky  lawn 
We  pass  the  swinging  portal, 

And  leave  the  great  Magician's  throng, 
In  loving  hearts  immortal. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


OUR   PRINCE   IMPERIAL. 

We  have  a  Curly  Head  at  home, 

What  more  could  one  desire? 
Since  he  can  build  a  Babel-tower 

And  crown  it  with  a  spire; 
He  wakens  first  at  morning-time, 

Before   the   sunrise    gleam, 
For  who  would  rouse  the  drowsy  world 

If  he  should  lie  and  dream? 

And  all  day  long  from  morn  till  night. 

With  tumble,  race  and  leap, 
The  only  quiet  in  the  house 

Is  when  he's  fast  asleep ! 
This  chap  is  not  so  very  old. 

Three  summers — less  or  more. 
And  yet  to  hear  him  you  might  think 

He  was  full  half  a  score! 

He  rides  his  trot-horse  off  to  town 

And  canters  home  again, 
And  then  with  locomotive  scream 

He  rushes  off  to  Spain ; 
His  railways  run  across  the  floor 

With  rows  of  chairs  for  cars — 
One  system  runs  up  to  the  moon. 

Another  out  to  Mars! 

We  hear  the  sound  of  fife  and  horn. 

The  drummer's  measured  beat. 
The  mimic  march  of  armed  men 

In  tramp  of  little  feet; 
And  oft  we  long  for  peace  to  come — 

So  sick  of  war's  alarms: 
The  forward  march,  the  double-quick, 

And  soldiers  grounding  arms! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


We  prize  so  much  the  quietness, 

The   silence   calm   and   deep, 
That  broods  above  the  tired  world 

When  he  is  fast  asleep ! 
'Tis  sweet,  indeed,  to  rest  awhile — 

To  hear  no  rumbling  train. 
To  listen  to  the  beating  heart 

And  throbbing  of  the  brain. 

But  then  in  such  a  blissful  state 

We  would  not  wish  to  stay ; — 
We'd  miss  him  like  the  sun  at  noon 

If  he  should  go  away! 
For  when  in  drowsy  afternoons 

He  sails  the  dreamland  burn. 
The  time  is  long,  we  wait  for  him, 

To  welcome  his  return ! 

Love  him? — this  young  philosopher? 

This  sum  of  household  joys? — 
This  little  man  epitome? 

This  Prince  of  all  the  boys? — 
I  guess  you'd  love  him  if  you  could, 

And  treasure  him  and  keep ; 
But  then — I  think  you'd  love  him  best 

When  very  fast  asleep ! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


KEEP  THY  HEART. 

Keep  thy  heart,  so  spake  of  old 
Wisdom's  King  in  words  of  gold : 
Though  his  crown  has  turned  to  dust- 
Scepter  eaten  of  the  rust, 
Passed  the  glory  of  his  reign, 
Still  these  golden  words  remain. 

Keep  thy  heart:    from  it  are  flung 
Words  that  drop  from  lip  and  tongue; 
Love  and  hate  are  kindled  there, 
Words  of  cursing,  words  of  prayer; 
Out  of  it  come  peace  and  strife 
And  the  issues  of  our  life. 

Keep  thy  heart,  and  keep  it  well ; 
Only  God  its  depths  can  tell, — 
What  dark  crimes  may  sleep  therein — 
WTiat  the  measure  of  its  sin. 
He  can  read  each  secret  part, 
For  He  looketh  on  the  heart. 

Keep  the  heart  from  touch  of  guile, 
While  the  bending  angels  smile; 
Keep  it  with  a  purpose  strong, 
Life  shall  be  a  happy  song; 
Love  divine  thy  strength  shall  be 
And  His  Kingdom  dwell  with  thee. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE    GOSPEL    OF    THE    LEAVES. 

What  glory  gilds  the  woodland's  crown 

Above  the  faded  bloom, 
The  russet,  crimson,   gold  and  brown 

In  autumn's  cunning  loom. 

The  leaves  that  lisped  in  summer  air 

By  magic  tints  are  crossed, 
And  flying  shuttles  everywhere 

By  airy  hands  are  tossed. 

And  every  leaf  with  beauty  rife 

Hath  wisdom  to  impart; 
What  lessons  for  our  human  life 

Are  in  the  weaver's  art ! 

Our  fleeting  days  are  few  and  brief, 

As  autumn  tints  they  pass, 
Or  as  the  beauty  of  the  leaf, 

Or  shadows  on  the  grass. 

How  like  the  sibyl-leaves  of  old. 

As  once  the  record  ran. 
For  here  is  writ  in  red  and  gold 

The  destlnv  of  man. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AT  GETTYSBURG. 

This  is  the  field  of  the  sacred  dead ; 
This  is  the  field  where  Valor  led ; 
Here  they  wrestled,  brave  foe  with  foe, 
Half  of  a  hundred  years  ago! 

To-day,  on  valley  and  slope  and  hill, 
The  voice  of  battle  is  hushed  and  still, 
And  tenderly  on  the  earth's  green  breast 
The  brave  are  pillowed  in  dreamless  rest. 

Afar  in  the  vision  of  slope  and  wold 
Look  how  the  tide  of  the  battle  rolled  ; 
From  Round  Top  cone  to  the  green  Ridge  spread 
Where  sleep  in  peace  the  hamlet's  dead. 

From  the  hidden  clefts  of  Devil's  Den, 
When  Death  reached  out  for  the  lives  of  men, 
Over  wood  and  field,  while  shell  and  ball 
Shattered  and  shivered  the  shielding  wall. 

By  Orchard  and  Wheatfield,  creek  and  run. 
By  Gulp's  Hill,  white  in  the  noonday  sun, 
Till  fierce  and  wild  in  the  battery's  breath, 
The  last  red  charge  in  the  Valley  of  Death ! 

Then  night  and  mist  and  cloud  came  down 
Over  the  wasted   field   and   town. 
While  the  pitying  rain  from  upturned  faces 
Washed  away  War's  crimson  traces. 

Through  cloud  and  mist  as  a  fleeing  ghost. 
The  wild  retreat  of  the  shattered  host. 
While  storm  and  murk  from  the  patient  stars 
Veiled  the  vision  of  death  and  scars. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


But  the  days  to  come  the  ages  through 
Will  keep  their  memory — Gray  and  Blue; 
And  here  on  the  field  of  the  fateful  years 
We  honor  the  brave  with  love  and  tears. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  PINES. 

Deep  hid  in  the  old  pine  forest, 
All  floored  with  needles  and  moss, 

And  dappled  with  sun  and  shadow — 
Woven  of  branches  a-toss, 

Hearing  the  wonderful  measures 
Of  winds  in  the  pines  at  play 

As  soft  as  the  surf,  or  stormy. 
To  dream  while  the  days  delay. 

Here  in  the  cool  of  the  shadows 
And  winning  from  care  release. 

To  feel  in  the  pines'  low  singing 
The  turning  of  tides  of  peace. 

Sweet  rest  in  the  joy  of  morning, 

As  under  the  stars  agleam, 
With  lullabies  up  in  the  branches 

To  lure  to  the  shores  of  dream. 

More  royally  couched  for  slumber 
Than  chambers  where  kings  repose; 

On  tassels  of  fragrance  only 
The  evergreen  forest  knows. 

And  under  the  cool  deep  shadows 
To  hear  as  the  soul  inclines 

The  storm-song  up  on  the  mountains. 
Or  sweet  low  passion  of  pines. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  CHEERFUL  SINGER. 

His  is  singing  we  should  heed 
When  our  cares  annoy — 

His  the  music  that  we  need, 
Just  a  song  of  joy. 

Some  might  think  him  over-plain 

In  his  style  of  dress, — 
Something  of  the  sober  strain 

In  his  loveliness. 

Fairer  beauties  we  may  see 

All  about  us  throng, 
Dress  is  only  vanity 

Weighed  against  his  song. 

Hear  him  on  the  cherry-tree, 
From   the  topmost  spray. 

With  a  heart  brim  full  of  glee, 
Pouring  out  his  lay. 

All  the  best  notes  up  and  down, 
Through  the  summer  long. 

He  has  woven  in  his  crown 
Of  exultant  song. 

Sweetest  singer  round  the  home- 
Melody  on  wings, 

All   the  common   birds   are   dumb 
When  the  thrasher  sings. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WORLD. 

There   is   the   road   that  climbs   the  hill 
From  the  valley  green  below; — 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  see  it  still, 
Away  in  the  long  ago! 

It  winds  through  autumn  uplands  brown, 
Through  shadows  and  changing  light, 

'Till  where  the  blue  of  sky  bends  down 
It  vanishes  out  of  sight; 

We  climbed  it  once  in  childhood  days — 
My  brother  and  Rab — we  three, 

Through  all  its  winding,  shady  ways. 
To  see  where  its  end  might  be. 

A  farmer  we  met — 'twas  growing  late 
And  near  to  the  close  of  day; 

He  said,  "the  road  stops  at  my  gate, — 
"There  is  no  more  road  this  way!" 

We   wondered    much; — so    near    the    night; 

We  shook  with  a  sudden  fear; — 
Beyond  the  hills  a  weird,  strange  light; 

The  edge  of  the  world  so  near ! 

WTiat  if  the  wind  should  blow,  we  said. 

And  we  should  all  be  whirled 
Across  the  fields,  alive  or  dead. 

Over  the  edge  of  the  world! 

Homeward  we  fled  with  fearful  speed — 
Well-nigh  with  the  whir  of  wings. 

Far  from  the  dizzy  brink  indeed, 
O'er-hanging   the   edge  of   things! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


In  after  years  we  still  would  shun 
The  road  that  climbs  from  the  plain, 

Nor  dared  draw  near  in  shade,  or  sun. 
The  edge  of  the  world  again ! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

DECEMBER  DAYS. 

Again  the  glad  December  days 

Return  with  wonted  cheer 
To  ring  the  happy  Christmas  bells 

And  round  another  year. 

And  though  the  woods  are  brown  and  bare, 

The  fir-trees  as  of  old, 
The  holly  keeps  its  living  green, 

The  hazel  keeps  its  gold. 

And  while  the  winds  of  winter  blow 

Above  our  northern  clime, 
I  muse  upon  the  fading  year — 

My  own  December-time. 

For  while  the  winter  sun  hangs  low 

And  all  the  skies  are  clear; 
The  yellow  light  above  the  hills 

Falls  on  my  latest  year. 

How  swift  the  old  Decembers  pass, 

How  still  their  pageants  go, 
In  rusty  garb  of  faded  brown. 

Or  white  wool  of  the  snow. 

And  in  the  latest  and  the  last 

The  years  revive  again — 
The  grand  Decembers  of  the  past — 

Three-score  and  six  and  ten! 

Between  the  first  December  morn 

And  this  low  winter  sun, 
What  measured  joys  of  life  have  passed — 

What  thronging  years  have  run; 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


The  dew  of  life's  young  morning-time 

Beneath  the  rainbow's  gold, 
The  tender  years  of  bud  and  bloom 

In  April  days  of  old  ; 

The  visions  and  the  dreams  of  youth, 

As  in  a  magic  glass. 
The  eager  feet  that  scarce  could  wait 

The  slow-paced  years  to  pass; 

The  strivings  of  strong  manhood's  prime 

The  goal  of  life  to  claim, 
The  tumult  of  the  bugle's  call. 

The  lure  of  idle  fame. 

The  fruitful  autumn's  golden  gleam, 

The  drift  of  faded  bloom, 
The  falling  of  the  yellow  leaf, 

But  give  December  room! 

So  while  life's  winter  days  go  by, 

December  bides  with  me, 
I  give  my  blessing  to  the  past 

And  wait  the  years  to  be. 


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THANKSGIVING. 

O  drooping  heart,  lift  up  thy  head — 

Thine  eyes  to  hills  afar, 
Give  thanks,  O  soul  of  man,  to  Him 

From  whom  all  bounties  are ; 
The  teeming  earth  fails  not,  nor  is 

The  sower's  treasure  lost ; 
But  Cometh  back  a  thousand  fold, 

A  world-wide  Pentecost; — 
Put  off  the  sack-cloth  of  thy  woe — 

Thy  sorrowful  array; 
Put  on  thy  robes  of  praise  and  sing 

This  glad  Thanksgiving   Day! 

His  hand  of  plenty,  open  wide. 

Pours  forth  the  golden  grain, 
'And  on  the  evil  and  the  good 

The  bounty  of  His  rain ; 
While   Peace  broods  o'er  the  land  to-day, 

And  war's  red  flag  is  furled, 
The  Harvest  .Mother  bares  her  breast 

To  feed  the  hungry  world : 
So  let  each  lowly  heart  be  glad, 

The  lips  with  praise  alway 
Repeat  the  joy  of  all  the  land 

This  grand  Thanksgiving  Day! 

Light  up  the  fires  of  home  anew 

And  let  the  ingle  glow 
With  something  of  the  olden  cheer 

It  knew  so  long  ago ; 
For  love  brings  back  tlie  wandering  feet 

However  far  they  roam, 
And  loyal  hearts  return  to  greet 

The  childhood  hearth  and  home: 

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Be  glad,  O  homes  of  youth  again, 
Where  sacred  love  holds  sway. 

And  let  your  gladness  swell  the  joy 
Of  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 
TO  THE  POET  OF  THE  BRANDYWINE. 

(j.  R.  H.) 
To  Thee,  O  Friend,  this  measured  line, 
Rare  Poet  of  the  Brandywine! 
To-day  I  roam  as  in  a  dream 
Along  the  battle-haunted  stream, 
Where  grasses  wave  and  lilies  grow 
And  glass  them  in  the  pool  below: 
Through  shadows  cool  the  waters  creep. 
Or  in  the  sunshine  lie  asleep — 
Now  crooning  in  a  ripple  strong 
The  measures  of  a  woodland  song, 
And  then  at  hush  and  rest  they  be 
As  listening  to  the  sounding  sea; 
While  every  note  that  birds  repeat 
Blends  with   the  music  rare  and   sweet 
Of  that  melodious  song  of  thine, 

0  Poet  of  the  Brandywine! 

■  And  still  in  Fancy's  misty  dream 

1  float  adown  the  winding  stream 

In  dusk,  or  shine,  through  arches  wide 
Inverted  in  the  limpid  tide, 
Past  bank  and  bar  and  shallow  trail 
While  cloud-fleets  drift  above  and  sail, 
Or,  deeply  mirrored,  tack  and  go 
Through  blue  unsounded  seas  below; 
What  joy  amid  the  dewy  morn 
To  skirt  the  bladed  fields  of  corn; 
To  hear  the  thrushes  in  the  wheat 
And    childhood's   laughter    ringing   sweet, 
The  while  thy  pictures  pass  and  gleam 
And   glide  adown  the  winding  stream. 
Till   Fancy  makes  these  visions  mine 
O   Singer  of  the  Brandywine! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


Thou  singest  beauty  half  divine, 

0  minstrel   of   the   Brandywine! 
What  charm  for  eager  ear  and  eye 
Are  in  thy  measures  passing  by! 

1  hear  with  thee  as  waters  flow 
The  echoes  of  the  long  ago : 

The  catbird's  note,  the  robin's  trill, 

The  thrasher  singing  by  the  mill, 

Keep  time  with  rhythm  of  thy  lay 

Through  all  the  royal  summer  day: 

In  dusky  green  of  quiet  dells. 

Where  lilies  swing  their  airy  bells. 

And  where  the  reeds  and  rushes  throng 

Are  tender  melodies  of  song, 

And    Fame  will   keep   these  strains  of  thine, 

O  Poet  of  the  Brandywine! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AT  EVENTIDE. 

Some  three  and  forty  years  ago; — 

Ah!    life  is  but  a  span! 
It's  three  and  forty  years  since 

The  wedded  life  began ! 

Swift  the  years  have  sped  afar 
Above   the   travelled    way, 

All  the  raptures  of  their  flight 
A  dream  of  yesterday! 

Just   a   gleam   for   summer-time — 

A  flash  of  golden  wing, 
Then  the  snowflakes  in  the  air, 

And  after  that  the  spring. 

Toil  and  care  have  been  our  lot 
All  the  way  together, 

Yet  the  years  have  brought  us  cheer- 
Lots  of  sunny  weather. 

Time  has  wrought  her  changes  well. 

As  still  as  roses  grow  ; 
Turned  the  auburn  tress  to  gray. 

The  gray  to  winter's  snow. 

Eye  and  ear  have  dulled  forsooth — 
The  years  \\'ill  work  their  will 

Still  a  gleam  illumines  the  way — 
The  love-light  lingers  still. 

In  its  glow  we  wander  on 

Toward  the  setting  sun- 
It's   three   and    forty  years  since 
The  wedded  life  begun! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


What  matter  when  the  end  comes, 
For  Love  will  keep  its  song; 

Life  is  but  a  little  space, 
Eternity  is  long! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  MOTHER  HEART. 

When  wondering  shepherds  came  of  old 

To  dreaming  Bethlehem  town, 
With  that  new  song  the  angels  told, 

While  Syrian  stars  looked  down, — 
They  found  Him  as  the  angels  said; 

And  kings  and  sages  came 
To  worship  at   His  manger-bed 

And  spread  abroad  His  fame. 

But  Mary's  sweet  thoughts — wandered  far- 

The  dream  of  love  a  part, 
And  what  they  told  of  song  and  star 

She  pondered  in  her  heart. — 
What  dreams  were  hers  across  the  night. 

Through  Edom's  desert  wild, 
When  in  the  dim,  uncertain  light 

They  bore  the  sleeping  Child? 

When  singing  birds  would  flit  and  toss, 

With  airy  wings  outspread, 
And  make  the  semblance  of  a  cross 

Above  His  shining  head; — 
Or  when  at  weary  shut  of  day 

She  looked  into  His  eyes. 
Did  ever  shadow  gloom  her  way 

Of  some  great  sacrifice? 

And  later,  when  a  tender  youth 

He  questioned  of  the  Law, 
Till  Rabbi's  saw  in  Him  the  truth 

That  bade  them  stand  in  awe ; — 
How  mused  she  of  stilled  Galilee? 

Of  Tabor's    form    Divine  ? 
The  joy  of  Nain  and  Bethany? 

And   Cana's  wedding  wine? 

109 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


What  might  His  wondrous  mission  be — 

The  burden  of  His  years? — 
The  anguish  of  Gethsemane — 

The  cruel  Roman  spears? — 
What  song,  or  story,  can  impart, 

Or  golden  dream  disclose 
What  Mary  pondered  in  her  heart? — 

Perchance  some  mother  knows! 

For  mothers  dream,  and  who  can  tell 

What  precious  thoughts  apart 
They  hold  and  hide  so  deep  and  well 

Within  the  mother-heart? — 
O  mothers,  dream  your  dreams  of  bliss, 

But  know — the   fairest  born. 
Took  on  His  lips  the  Juda's  kiss 

And  wore  a  crown  of  thorn ! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


WHITE-BIRCH  POND. 

Here  are  the  birches  by  the  pond 
Hills  and  the  blue  of  sky  beyond. 

Mirror  of  crystal,  lily-crowned, 
Walled  by  the  thronging  birches  round. 

Wood-nymphs  fair  in  the  summer  glow 
Leaning  above  the  wave  below; — 

Graces  sweet  in  the  airy  sheen, 
Robed  in  kirtles  of  tender  green; 

Leafy  mantle  and  snowy  stole 
Type  of  the  pure  and  stainless  soul. 

Woodland  shade  and  a  haunt  of  dreams. 
Voice  of  birds  and  the  voice  of  streams. 

Cool  the  breath  that  the  water  brings. 
Foaming  down  from  the  upland  springs. 

Sweet  the  shadows  the  birches  toss 
Over  the  floor  of  woven  moss. 

Across  the  pond  the  swallows  skim 
And  lilies  rock  where  wild  ducks  swim. 

The  bittern  wades  along  the  shore, 
Kingfisher  fishes  the  waters  o'er, 

And  shallow  cove  and  sunny  bay 
Echo  his  triumph  day  by  day. 

Ill 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Here  as  of  old  I  muse  and  dream 

By  woodland  pond  and  mountain  stream, 

And  leave  on  sandy  margins  sweet 
The  wet  prints  of  unsandalled  feet, 

While  overhead  the  branches  cool 
Mirror  their  graces  in  the  pool; — 

Queenly  birches  and  woodland  pond, 
Hills  and  the  blue  of  skv  beyond. 


112 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


WHEN  LILACS  BLOW. 

O !  the  world  is  full  of  gladness  set  to  sweetest  notes  of  song, 
And  the  melody  is  ringing  in  a  chorus  loud  and  long, 
While  the  orchard's  million  blossoms  are  full  of  droning  bees. 
And   the  shadows  come  to  linger  underneath  the  greening 

trees, — 
While  the  spendthrift  dandelions  set  the  landscape  all  aglow ; 
For  the  smile  of  Nature  broadens  when  the  lilacs  blow. 

O !  the  beauty  of  the  valley  with  the  waving  of  the  wheat, 
And  the  violets  that  follow  the  Maytime's  happy  feet, — 
The    Kingcups    in    the   meadows    and    the   jewelled    grassy 

spears, 
When  the  dimpled  face  of  morning  through  a  veil  of  mist 

appears, 
While  the  apple-blooms  are  falling  like  mimic  flakes  of  snow, 
And  the  thrasher  sings  the  sweetest  when  the  lilacs  blow. 

Now  the  robin  in  the  maple  is  building  in  the  boughs. 
And  the  catbird  in  the  cherrytree  is  singing  to  his  spouse; 
The  dog-wood  in  the  fringes  of  the  wooded  land  reveals, 
The  glimpses  of  a  sheeted  ghost  that  through  the  forest  steals, 
And  Nature  holds  her  open  court  for  everything  that  grows, 
For  her  heart  is  full  of  rapture  when  the  lilac  blows. 


113 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  MOUNTAIN  LAND. 

Afar  from  my  rock  veranda, 

Built  when  the  world  was  new, 
I  look  on  the  primal  ranges, 

Piercing  the  ages  through ; 
On  peaks  that  shoulder  the  azure. 

Wrinkled  with  years  of  time. 
And  folded  in  royal  purple 

Wrapped  in  repose  sublime. 

High  over  the  lowly  valleys. 

Folded  in  shadowy  dreams, 
And  greened  by  the  water-courses — 

Lulled  by  the  voice  of  streams; 
Uplifted  in  unspanned  spaces. 

Scourged  by  the  gales,  and  fanned, 
Pillars  of  earth  unshaken — 

Thrones  of  the  mountain's  land. 

Misty  and  dim  in  the  twilight. 

Fresh  with  the  dew  of  old. 
They  wait  the  lifting  of  shadows 

To  gleam  in  garb  of  gold ; 
Ranges  o'er  ranges  uplifting 

Royal  and  grave  and  grand. 
Under  the  ceiling  of  azure 

The  worshipful  mountains  stand. 

Dreaming  at  noon  in  the  silence, 

Wearing  their  glazier  scars, 
Or  kneeling  at  night  in  the  shadows. 

Comforted  by  the  stars; — 
Out  of  the  joy  of  morning, 

Or  measures  of  storm  untold, 
Down  from  the  choir-peaks  shaken 

The  chorus  of  God  is  rolled. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  MAGI. 

Out  of  the  East  the  Magi  came 

In  quest  of  the  long  foretold ; 
Three  kings  were  they  of  royal  fame 

In  the  wondrous  days  of  old ; 
Afar  they  came  from  the  morning-tide, 

Through  valley  and  meadow  sweet, 
And  sandy  wastes  of  the  desert  wide 

Were  tracked  by  their  camels'  feet. 

Through  drowsy  heats  of  the  burning  noon. 

Through  lonely  and  desolate  lands, 
Where  the  wayside  palm-trees  droop  and  swoon, 

In  the  hot  and  burning  sands; 
In  star-lit  camp  of  the  journey  long 

The  dreams  of  their  sleep  out-ran. 
The  slow-paced  march  of  the  motley  throng 

In  the  trail  of  the  caravan. 

Weary  and  slow  they  traveled  far, 

Out  of  the  land  of  the  morn, 
Led  on  alway  by  the  guiding  star 

In  quest  of  the  King  new-born, 
Till  over  the  Syrian  hills  at  night 

Where  the  dreaming  shepherds  lay, 
The  windows  of  heaven  aglow  with  light 

Made  clear  the  gloom  of  the  way. 

Now  through  the  streets  of  the  white-walled  town 

They  sought  Him  on  royal  throne. 
While  the  star-light  sifted  softly  down 

In  the  court  of  a  stable  lone! 
Through  city  and  street — the  desert  post — 

Full  weary  and  slow  they  filed, 
Till  the  King  they  sought  was  found  at  last 

In  Bethlehem's  wondrous  Child. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


They  brought  Him  gifts  of  the  costliest  things- 
Sweet  myrrh  and  many  a  gem — 

The  homage  of  hearts  and  treasure  of  kings 
To  the  manger  of  Bethlehem; 

Then  back  they  turned  to  the  morning  land, 
And  with  joyful  feet  they  trod, 

The  waste  of  the  desert's  burning  sand 
With  faith  in  the  Christ  of  God. 

This  was  the  quest  of  the  sages  old; 

Now  the  Christmas  bells  renew 
The  sweetest  story  that  time  has  told 

The  sweep  of  the  ages  through ; 
So  carol,  O  heart,  with  chime  of  bells, 

And  open  thy  lips  and  sing 
While  the  joy  of  earth  its  rapture  tells 

To  the  world's  Redeemer-King. 


116 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING. 

O  beautiful  wings  of  the  morning, 

In  silence  above  unfurled, 
How  they  banish  the  night 
With  the  plumes  of  their  light 

And  girdle  with  joy  the  world ; 

Over  valleys  and  plains  and  mountains. 
Over  oceans  and  lakes  and  streams, 

From  the  trouble  of  tears 

And  the  sorrow  of  years. 

They  waken  the  earth  from  dreams. 

Over  winds  of  the  tropics  blowing, 
Where  wonderful  blooms  unfold, 

Where  sands  of  desert  glow. 

Or  sleeps  eternal  snow. 

The  beautiful  wings  of  gold. 

And  always  the  sheen  of  their  glory 
Somewhere  is  gilding  the  sky. 

Wherever  speech  has  flown, 

Or  love  divine  is  known. 

The  wings  of  the  morning  fly. 

And  silently  going  and  going, 

They  follow  the  dawn's  red  trail; 

Not  till  the  earth  grows  cold 

In  countless  aeons  old 

Will  the  wings  of  morning  fail. 


117 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  INDIAN  WELL. 

This  is  the  story  the  settlers  tell — 
The  legend  old  of  the  Indian  Well. — 

'Twas  in  the  moon  of  the  harvest  old, 
In  the  time  of  Autumn's  yellow  gold : 
A  red  chief  came  from  the  Northern  wild 
With  a  maiden  fair,  his  dark-eyed  child. 
And  here  in  the  forest's  lonely  dell 
His  wigwam  built  by  the  shaded  well. 

Crazed  was  the  beautiful  Raven-Hair, 
Lonely  and  sad  in  her  dark  despair 
For  loss  of  her  chief — the  Ashen-Bow, 
Who  went  on  the  war-path  moons  ago 
And  never  a  whisper  of  his  fate 
Had  left  her  lonely  and  desolate. 
This  is  why  in  the  Autumn-glow 
They  hither  came  in  the  long  ago; 

Wearily  passed  to  the  sachem's  child 

The  long  sad  days  in  her  native  wild; 

The  wigwam  built  for  the  loving  twain 

Still  waited  his  coming  all  in  vain. 

Summer  was  passing  and  Autumn-tide 

Was  set  for  the  feast  of  Brave  and  Bride; 

The  red  leaves  turned  to  golden  flame — 

No  tidings  back  from  the  war-path  came, 

Yet  love  failed  not  though  her  brain  save  way 

And  wildly  she  wandered  day  by  day, 

By  hill  and  vale,  o'er  mount  and  stream. 

Lured  and  led  bv  her  fever-dream, 

Manv  and  many  a  weary  mile 

To  find  the  light  of  her  lover's  smile. 

118  ' 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


In  dreams,  one  day  in  the  forest  wide, 
In  the  quiet  hush  of  the  eventide, 
A  vision  came  to  her  troubled  brain 
That  wakened  hope  in  her  heart  again. 
Therein  was  shown  her  a  rocky  wall 
Where  wild,  swift  waters  leap  and  fall. 
In  foam-white  wonder  adown  the  dell 
Into  the  depths  of  a  wide,  deep  well, 
And  through  the  vision  a  voice  rang  clear — 
"Look  for  the  smile  of  your  lover  here" ! 


So  under  her  father's  tender  care 

The  beautiful  maiden — Raven-Hair, 

Eagerly  followed  the  dreamy  quest 

In  search  of  the  pool  of  happy  rest; — 

Where  the  winding  Housatonic  pours 

Its  crystal  flood  by  the  wooded  shores. 

Drifting  along  as  the  river  flows, 

In  springtime  fed  by  the  Berkshire  snows. 

They  caught   through   the  upland   woods  a  gleam, — 

The  picture  framed  in  the  maiden's  dream. 

When  a  brook  from  the  White  Hills  leaped  and   fell 

Into  the  cool,  deep,  visioned  well! 

So  here  they  built  in  the  woodland  shade 
The  wigwam  home  of  the  Indian  maid. 
And  here  by  the  deep  well's  rocky  rim 
She  watched  till  the  daylight  faded  dim 
Her  own  sweet  face  in  the  mirror  true 
And  longed  for  the  vanished  smile  she  knew. 
Days  came  and  went  and  the  brown  leaves  fell 
In  whispers  above  the  silent  well. 
While  cloud  and  sky  and  morning  glow" 
Lay  in  the  fathomless  pool  below. 

119 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

One  day  from  a  hostile  clan  there  sped 
The  feet  of  a  captive  long  deemed  dead ! 
And  into  his  camp  as  from  the  grave 
Walked  Ashen-Bow — the  warrior-brave, 
And  pausing  not  in  his  native  wild 
He  sought  the  sachem's  wandering  child, 
And  rested  he  not  for  sleep,  or  fare, 
Till  he  found  the  lodge  of  Raven-Hair! 

While  sadly  she  watched  by  the  cooling  tide, 
Unknown  he  crept  to  the  maiden's  side. 
And  over  her  shoulder  leaned  to  trace 
In  the  waters  clear  her  dusky  face. 
When  lo !  the  vision  with  all  its  charms 
Returned  again,  while  her  lover's  arms 
Folded  her  fondly  and  pillowed  in  rest — 
Her  troubled  head  on  his  faithful  breast; 
And  never-more  did  her  brain  run  wild 
For  true  love  haloed  the  sachem's  child ! 

This  is  the  story  the  settlers  tell — 
The  legend  old  of  the  Indian  Well. 


120 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  COMET. 

Far  alone  through  the  chartless  seas  he  came, 

Where  never  a  sail  was  unfurled, 
Till  he  shook  the  reefs  from  his  folded  flame 

For  a  cruise  bj'  many  a  world. 

Through  the  measureless  years  his  red  lights  shone 

On  the  nebulous  whirlpool  spray; 
On  the  trackless  surf  of  the  stars  far  blown 

And  the  foam  of  the  Milkyway. 

And  the  drifting  world  caught  his  flaming  light 

And   his  banner  above   unrolled, 
As  he  plowed  his  way  with  a  tireless  might 

Round  the  cape  of  the  sun's  red  gold. 

How  grandly  he  swept! — how  his  headlights  burned 

At  the  sunward  dip  of  his  spars ! 
With  the  joy  of  the  outward  bound  he  turned, — 

Flagship  of  the  fleet  of  the  stars! 

Speed  ever  and  on,  O  craft  of  the  skies! 

Afar  through  the  infinite  spheres. 
Past  the  utmost  seas  where  the  world-waves  rise. 

On  thy  criu'se  of  the  lonely  years! 


121 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  FEAST  OF  HARVEST. 

When  drowsy  hush  of  Autumn  time 

The  hazy  crystal  fills, 
And  smoky  sunshine  hangs  above 

The  umber  of  the  hills, 

When  all  the  land  has  rest  at  last — 

From  weary  care  surcease, 
And  sounds  that  mar  in  quiet  sleep 

Beneath  a  brooding  peace, 

When  woodlands  wear  in  solemn  state 

Their  robes  of  royal  dyes. 
And  pour  through  all  the  amber  air 

The  wine  of  sacrifice, 

Then,  clad  in  priestly  garb  of  gold 

With  airy  frill  of  frost 
The  glad  earth  keeps  her  harvest  feast- 

Her  thankful  pentecost. 


122 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  MAGIC  TOUCH. 

A  tired  brown  princess  laid  down  to  her  dreams 

In  garments  faded  and  old, 
And  the  elves  came  down  on  the  still  star  beams, 

And  covered  her  safe  from  the  cold. 

From  whitest  of  wool  they  wove  her  a  spread, 

For  the  couch  of  a  princess  meet, 
And  folded  it  softly  about  her  head 

And  down  to  her  royal  feet. 

All  sweetly  she  lay  in  her  dreamful  mood, 
Nor  knew  of  the  storm's  increase, — 

Of  the  rude,  wild  song  of  the  leafless  wood, 
But  held  to  her  dream  of  peace. 

And  long  was  the  night  till  the  south-wind  blew, 

When  her  quick  pulse  beat  again 
To  the  vital  touch  of  a  charm  all  new — 

The  song  of  the  April  rain. 


123 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


ON  THE  TRAIL. 

Each  morning  lights  anew  the  onward  way, 
And  shade  and  gleam  an  added  glory  lend ; 

O'er  rugged  paths  the  weary  feet  may  stray, 
But  evening  brings  to  toil  and  care  an  end. 

Each  twilight  marks  again  the  welcome  bound — 
The  nightly  tent  beside  the  winding  trail, 

When  campfires  glow  and  wayside  cheer  is  found 
And  mellow  voices  weave  the  song  and  tale. 

O  welcome  rest  for  weary,  w^ayward  feet. 
While  tired  eyes  to  restful  slumber  close ; 

All  undisturbed  the  wooded  calm  so  sweet, 
The  quiet  stars  above  the  still  repose — 

Such  healing  sleep  as  crowns  the  weary  day 
With  happy  dreams  that  bid  all  care  begone — 

The  sleep  that  steals  our  weariness  away 
Till  swing  again  the  golden  gates  of  dawn. 

Day  after  day  through  valleys  green  and  old, 
Or  o'er  the  hills  and  purple  ranges  grand. 

Watched  o'er  by  peaks  with  winter  capped  and  stoled 
We  keep  the  trail  across  the  mountain  land. 


124 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


A  GRAVE  IN  FLORENCE. 

Roses  white  and  roses  red 
By  her  grave-side  growing, 

Roses  pale  as  dreamer  dead, 
Red  as  rich  blood  flowing. 

Overhead  the  branches  swing. 

Callow  voices  calling. 
Busy  mother-birds  awing, 

Golden  sunshine   falling. 

Ever  while  the  days  go  by, 

Softly,  without  number. 
Bends  the  tender  Tuscan  sky 

O'er  her  quiet  slumber. 

From  the  hill-tops  dark  with  pines 
Come  the  soft  airs  blowing, 

Whispers  from  the  Apennines 
Over  Arno  flowing ; 

Where  along  the  storied  stream 
Youthful  Dante  wandered, 

Ere  his  ghostly,  three-fold  dream. 
He  in  exile  pondered. 

Here  our  English  singer  came 

With  her  songful  story, 
Wrought  and  won  a  lasting  fame. 

Crowned  with  love  and  glory. 

Here  she  drooped  amid  the  throng,— 
White  Rose  of  endeavor — 

But  the  Red  Rose  of  her  song, 
It  shall  live  forever. 

125 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 
APRIL  DAYS. 

TO  G.  H.  L. 
APR.    1844 APR.    19  14. 

We  hail  your  natal-day  once  more 
With  love  and  cheer,  O  brother, — 

We  come  to  count  your  birthdays  o'er 
While  April  brings  another ! 

How  many  Aprils  you  have  known 
When  Nature  wakes  from  slumber! 

How  many  April-days  have  flown ! 
Ah: — who  shall  tell  their  number? 

One  backward  look — we  see  them  pass! 

The  Aprils  flitting  over 
The  childhood  fields  of  dewy  grass, 

The  boyhood  fields  of  clover. 

And  on  the  still  procession  strays; 

The  April  bloom  adorning 
The  foot-paths  where  the  youthful  gaze 

Is  fixed  on  manhood's  morning! 

It  dawns  and  passes  like  the  rest, 
Whatever  winds  are  blowing. 

And  still  we  journey  toward  the  west. 
And  still  the  days  are  going. 

What  if  the  years  become  a  load 

So  heavy  that  we  wonder. 
While  Atlas-like  v.'e  keep  the  road, 

And  bend  the  burden  under; 

126 


The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


They  cannot  make  the  heart  grow  old- 

The  heart  all  folly  scorning, 
If  we  but  keep  the  stainless  gold — 

The  happy  dreams  of  morning. 

And  in  the  fadeless  land  afar 
Where  life  and  love  fail  never, 

Beyond  the  light  of  sun  and  star 
The  ageless  life  forever! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


DANDELIONS. 

So  fair  they  seem  amid  the  grasses  lying, 
In  minted  wealth  the  Incas  never  told, 

Such  lavish  grace  w^ith  other  beauty  vying. 
They  weave  the  meadow's  ample  cloth  of  gold. 

Fair  globes  of  gray  they  build  in  airy  splendor 
Along  the  way  where  summer's  light  feet  pass, 

Their  teeming  wealth  of  winged  seeds  they  render 
To  earth  again  for  gold  amid  the  grass. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


BY  THEIR  FRUITS. 

Never  man  spake  like  the  Master — 

The  heart  of  the  world  He  knew, 
He  taught  from  the  book  of  nature 

Rare  lessons  of  wisdom  true ; 
He  told  of  the  tiny  sparrow 

And  the  ear  that  hears  its  call, 
How  the  love  that  arches  heaven 

Heeds  also  the  sparrow's  fall. 

He  spoke  of  the  tall  field  lilies 

Rebuking  the  greed  and  sin, 
Arrayed  in  their  garments  golden, 

Though  they  neither  toil  nor  spin ; 
The  waving  grass  of  the  meadows. 

The  rustling  blades  of  the  corn, 
Of  the  clouds  and  tints  and  shadows 

They  eagerly  watched  at  morn : 

The  beauty  of  growth  and  growing. 

Of  the  bud  and  blade  and  tree, 
How  one  shall  reap  as  he  soweth. 

Whatever  the  sowing  be ; — 
How  the  sure  law  faileth  never, 

For  the  corn,  or  wheat,  or  tares, — 
The  vine  is  known  by  its  clusters. 

The  tree  by  the  fruit  it  bears. 

And  ever  the  seed  and  the  sowing 

Must  favor  the  sun  and  soil, 
If  the  harvest-field  in  autumn 

Be  worthy  the  reaper's  toil, — 
Rare  grapes  from  the  thorn  spring  never, 

Neither  figs  from  thistles  grow; 
The  grain  that  billows  in  beauty 

Comes  from  the  seed  that  we  sow. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

So  in  the  fields  of  our  living, 

By  garden  and  wayside  path, 
We  may  not  gather  the  roses, 

From  sowings  of  hate  and  wrath; 
And  at  the  end  of  the  harvest, 

When  all  the  fruits  are  grown, 
The  stores  will  show  in  the  garner 

What  manner  of  seed  was  sown. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


BURNS'  BIRTHDAY. 

Again  above  the  eastern  hills, 

In  wondrous  beauty  born, 
The  rosy  dawn  all  heaven  fills — 

The  poet's  natal  morn. 

His  birthday;  yet  though  years  may  trail 

Their  garments  manifold, 
Of  summer  bloom  and  winter  wail, 

They  cannot  make  him  old. 

To-day  his  voice  still  lifts  and  cheers — 
Inspires  with  courage  strong. 

And  all  the  weary  waste  of  years 
Is  fairer  for  his  song. 

The  harp  that  with  all  nature  sings 

Of  love  and  truth  sublime, 
With  rare,  immortal  sweetness  rings 

Across  the  years  of  time. 

And  not  alone  by  Bonnie  Doon, 

Or  rippling  waves  of  Ayr, 
Or  where  sweet  Afton's  waters  croon — 

His  fame  is  every- where. 

For  all  the  songs  that  met  his  ear, 
From  breeze  and  bird  and  rill. 

He  filled  with  love  and  sang  so  clear 
The  world  is  listening  still. 

And  since  each  heart  some  love  must  hold, 

All  lands  beneath  the  sky, 
Will  keep  his  fame  from  growing  old — 

And  Burns  will  never  die! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

UNTO  CAESAR. 

For  all  that  enriches  our  being 

From  cloud  to  lowliest  clod, 
O  brother,  give  praise  and  thanksgiving 

For  the  open  hand  of  God; 
For  the  earth  is  His  and  its  fullness 

Who  calleth  the  stars  by  name, 
Who  banded  the  strength  of  Orion 

And  tinted  the  Pleiad's  flame. 

The  seed-time  and  harvest  fail  never. 

The  rain  and  the  sunbeams  fall, 
Above  is  the  smile  of  His  bounty 

Who  heareth  the  hungry  call ; 
Over  measureless  plains  of  beauty — 

The  prairies  and  valleys  old, 
The  bountiful  Giver  of  harvest 

Girdles  the  world  with  its  gold. 

For  the  bounty  of  earth  unfailing, 

The  plenty  of  every  zone. 
Let  the  lips  of  praise  and  thanksgiving 

Give  thanks  unto  God  alone: 
Unto  Him  who  feedeth  the  sparrow 

And  stilleth  the  raven's  cry, 
And  who  heedeth  the  note  that  faileth 

In  the  song-birds  passing  by. 

The  earth  is  His  temple  and  altar, 

Arched  by  the  blue  of  the  skies, 
Let  the  follies  of  man  keep  silence 

While  incense  and  praise  arise: 
O  brother,  be  just  in  full  measure, 

And  give  for  the  harvest  grown. 
Unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's, 

But  unto  our  God  His  own. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AN  APPRECIATION. 

Love,  honor,  truth,  his  woven  crown  alway, — 
The  laurelled  singer  of  our  land  to-day; 
Call  him  not  old ;  nay,  slander  not,  vain  tongue, 
The  heart  of  song  can  keep  the  oldest  young: 
His  worth  and  work,  his  place  and  honored  name, 
All  men  may  know  if  they  but  ask  of  Fame. 

The  friend  of  Taylor,  Stoddard,  Boker,  Read, 
Stedman  and  Aldrich — singers  true  indeed, — 
The  mantle-wearers  of  the  older  choir 
Whose  hearts  were  touched  with  the  immortal  fire ; 
With  them  he  wears  the  poet's  fadeless  crown 
Of  song  and  story  in  our  land's  renown. 

They  pass  and  go, — and  yet  their  music  thrills 
The  happy  slumber  of  the  autumn  hills; 
On  sunward  slopes  he  listens  and  remains 
To  hear  the  echoes  of  their  glad  refrains ; — 
Sweet  peace  be  his — the  years  be  full  and  long. 
Ere  he  shall  sing  for  earth  his  final  song. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


MEMORIAL  POEM. 

Read  at  the  Memorial  Service  in  honor  of  the  late  Rev. 
Dr.  Joseph  E.  King,  New  York,  September  28,  191 3. 

Our  Friend  whom  late  we  greeted  here 

Hath  left  our  twilight  star, 
And  passed  unto  a  broader  sphere 

Beyond  the  Harbor  Bar. 

So  still  his  passing,  it  might  seem 

A  beacon-light  withdrawn, 
Or  but  the  fading  of  a  dream 

Amid  the  hush  of  dawn. — 

'Twas  in  the  Autumn,  brown  and  bare, — 

A  dull  November  morn. 
And  snowflakes  drifted  down  the  air 

The  day  that  he  was  born : — 

'Twas  in  the  June-time  of  the  year 

He  laid  his  armor  down, — 
Amid  the  summer  bloom  and  cheer 

He  passed  unto  his  crown. 

Between  that  first  November  day 

And  June's  imperial  sun, 
What  triumphs  marked  his  pilgrim  way 

What  victories  were  won  ? 

'Tis  fitting  while  September  weaves 

With  shuttles  to  and  fro, 
The  beauty  of  her  sibyl  leaves, 

Her  goldenrods  aglow, 

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That  we  should  meet  for  love  of  him 
Who  loved  his  fellow  men, — 

Whose  crown  of  life  no  age  may  dim — 
His  four-score  years  and  ten; — 

A  ripened  life,  its  close  serene; 

The  good  he  wrought  for  aye 
Will  keep  his  memory  ever  green, 

While  summers  pass  away ; — 

A  leader  born  to  lift  and  bless 

In  learning's  royal  van, 
A  messenger  of  righteousness 

And  sweet  good-will  to  man ; — 

No  groveller  in  the  mines  of  earth. 
He  sought  the  pearls  of  truth. 

The  assets  of  his  golden  worth 
The  cultured  minds  of  youth. 

A  Nestor  wise  in  wisdom's  ways. 

With  purpose  half  divine, 
To  make  dumb  lips  break  into  praise — 

Awake — arise  and  shine! 

Our  Friend  hath  filled  his  measured  years 

With  service  to  the  brim. 
And  where  he  bides  in  other  spheres, 

His  works  do  follow  him. 

How  grandly  down  the  vista  wide 

His  buildcd  arch  appears, 
Full  rounded  in  the  moving  tide 

Of  ninety  golden  years! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


O  loyal  hearts  with  memories  rife 

Of  dreams  so  far  away, 
How  well  the  record  of  his  life 

Inspires  our  hearts  to-day! — 

With  faith  and  hope  and  trust  and  love 
Made  quick  with  spirit  leaven, 

His  ladder  leaned  on  things  above, 
'Twas  not  so  far  to  Heaven ! — 

And  on  some  morning  near,  or  far, 

Our  barques  will  slacken  sail 

And  we  shall  drift  across  the  bar 

In  splendor  of  the  Morning  Star 

And  bid  our  brother — Hail! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


SOMETIME. 

Dear  Heart,  whom  I  miss  to-day, 
In  the  Heaven  where  you  stay 
Are  you  very  far  away? 

Do  you  ever  linger  near 

This  from  that  diviner  sphere — 

Bend  to  listen — ear  to  ear? 

Oft  I  wonder  if  you  know 
What  is  passing  here  below 
While  the  slow  years  come  and  go ; 

When  our  footpaths  here  divide 
Are  they  far  apart,  and  wide, 
Or  still  running  side  by  side? 

Is  the  distance  great  between 
This  and  that  which  is  unseen, 
Where  the  shadows  never  lean  ? 

If  from  out  that  fairer  land 
You  could  reach  to  me  your  hand, 
I  should  know  and  understand. 

Little  matter — far,  or  near, 
Since  no  echo  greets  my  ear. 
And  no  footfall  I  can  hear. 

Sometime,  when  my  vision  clears. 
Just  beyond  the  cloudy  years, 
And  the  blinding  mist  of  tears. 

In  that  other  land  serene, 
Where  no  vapors  intervene. 
We  shall  see  as  we  are  seen : 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


When  the  weary  years  are  flown, 

In  the  Light  of  Light  alone, 

We  shall  know  as  we  are  known : — 

This  the  faith  I  cherish  here, 

This  the  thought  that  lends  me  cheer 

Through  each  long  and  lonely  year; 

Sometime,  'neath  that  bluer  sky, 
We  shall  know  while  ages  fly. 
Love  immortal — you  and  I ! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


QUATRAINS. 

In  sleepless  mood  my  vigil  lone  I  kept  beneath  the  stars, 
While  burned  the  tangled  Pleiades  above  the  crest  of  Mars, 
And  brave  Orion   faced  the  dawn  with  vengeance  smitten 

eyes, 
And  lo !  the  moon  in  black  eclipse  groped  blindly  down  the 

skies. 


A  blue-bird  twittered  to  the  tardy  spring — 
A  timid  note,  but  very  soft  and  sweet, 

And  'neath  the  shimmer  of  her  sky-stained  wing 
The  first  pale  snowdrop  blossomed  at  my  feet. 

In  banded  silence  swing  the  soundless  spheres; 

In  foaming  galaxies  what  stillness  furled; 
On  padded  feet  go  by  the  centuried  years; 

And  silent  Dawn  rebukes  the  noisy  world. 


The  blush  that  follows  the  quickened  breath, 

The  pallor  that  fear  discloses, 
The  crimson  of  life,  the  paleness  of  death. 

This  is  the  war  of  the  roses. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


AT  CEDARCROFT. 

September  leans  above  the  meadow  rills 

And  plain  and  valley  wear  the  Autumn  haze 
That  blends  in  beauty  with  the  opal  days 

Whose  airy  charm  the  witching  azure  fills; 

With  song  to-day  the  heart  of  Nature  thrills; 
The  runnels'  rune  adown  its  winding  ways 
Blends  with  the  music  of  the  mellow  lays 

Our  Poet  sang  upon  the  Kennett  hills. 

O'er  Autumn  woods  the  soft  cloud-shadows  play, 
As  when  he  wrought  with  eager  heart  and  will, 
And  won  through  song  a  grand  and  noble  name: 
The  land  he  loved  remembers  him  to-day, 

And  through  these  shades  his  voice  is  ringing  still, 
Wliile  loyal  hearts  forever  keep  his  fame. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


TO  G.  H. 

How  swift  the  busy  years  go  by, 
O  faithful  friend  and  true, 

Above  the  stormy  drift  they  fly, 
Or  heaven's  unclouded  blue. 

No  trace  they  leave  on  sea  or  air. 
On  plain  or  mountain-land, 

To  earth   they  add   no  wrinkled  care- 
No  footprint  on  the  sand. 

Our  mortal  frames  alone  may  know 
By  sundered  love  and  tears. 

The  tangled  lines  of  joy  and  woe — 
The  furrows  of  the  years. 

But  not  the  fleeting  dream  of  life, 
Though  four-score  years  be  told. 

With  care  and  toil  and  sorrow  rife, 
Can  make  the  heart  grow  old. 

So  while  our  fleet  years  come  and  go 
With  greetings  true  and  fond 

They  only  hint  of  Morning-glow — 
Of  life  and  love  beyond. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


OLD  WARREN. 

Written     for    the    Centennial    Celebration    of    Warren 
County,  N.  Y.,  August,  1913. 

To  the  goodly  land  where  William  Penn 
Planted  a  State  for  the  rearing  of  men. 
Through  stress  and  heat  of  a  summer  day 
A  message  came  from  the  far  away, 
And  these  are  the  hurried  words  of  fear 
That  came  in  haste  to  my  startled  ear: 
"Old  Warren  is  seized — a  sudden  start — 
Something  Centennial — touching  the  heart! 
Come  home,  come  home,  on  the  beaten  trail 
And  give  him  a  hearty  cheer  and  hail!" 

So  hasting,  I  bring  from  history's  shrine, 
From  Valley  Forge  and  the  Brandy  wine, 
A  greeting  and  cheer — you'll  understand, 
A  truant  strayed  from  the  old  home-land ! 

A  cheer  for  Old  Warren !  we're  glad  to  heai 

His  case  is  hopeful — beyond  a  fear, 

So  sturdy  is  he,  and  strong  of  will, 

Named  for  the  hero  of  Bunicer  Hill, 

Not  wrinkled  and  old  as  age  appears. 

But  strong  in  the  youth  of  his  hundred  years! 

A  cheer  for  Old  Warren,  hearty  and  hale — 

A  cheer  for  his  sons  from   mountain  and  vale: — 

Chester  and  Horicon,  side  by  side, 

With  rivers  that  seek  the  ocean's  tide ; 

Bolton  and  Hague,  hand  clasping  hand 

By  the  fair}-  lake  in  mountain-land ; 

Johnsburg,  camping  along  the  west, 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 

Cool  in  the  shade  of  Crane  Mountain's  crest; 

Warrensburg  bounded   by  mountain   and  stream; 

Stony  Creek  lapped  in  a  woodland  dream; 

Thurman — named  for  a  settler  true 

Born  and  reared  when  the  land  was  new ; 

Caldwell — the  keeper  of  Law's  emprise — 

Home  of  the  Lady  with  banded  eyes; 

Queensbury,  boasting  a  city  fair; 

And  Luzerne  fresh  as  the  mountain  air: — 

This  is  his  family  as  it  appears 

Born  in  the  strength  oi  his  hundred  years! 

His  children's  children  are  gathered  here 

To  give  Old  Warren  a  hearty  cheer: 

They  come  from  near,  and  they  come  from  far, 

Wherever  the  hue  of  Fortune's  star 

Has  led  their  wandering  steps  to  roam 

From  the  hearth-fire  glow  of  boyhood's  home: 

They  have  heard  the  call — the  old  light  gleams 

On  the  winding  way — on  the  old  sweet  dreams. 

And  so  wherever  the  feet  may  stray 

They  tread  the  old  home-paths  to-day. 

However  afar  our  feet  may  roam 

We  hearken  back  to  the  songs  of  home; — 

Home  where  the  feet  of  our  childhood  ran 

Home  where  the  dreams  of  j^outh  began, 

Home  to  Old  Warren's  valleys  and  hills, 

Home  to  his  rivers  and  lakes  and  rills, 

Home  to  the  Hudson's  ceaseless  rune 

With  the  woodland  songs  and  the  birds  in  tune — 

A  measure  learned  in  the  forest  lone 

At  the  foot  of  old  Mt.  Marcy's  throne, 

Home  to  babble  of  stream  and  fall 

And  the  old-time  echoes  that  call  and  call ! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  this  Is  Old  Warren's  sacred  soil: — 
Home  of  the  royal  guild  of  toil : — 
And  out  of  the  past  the  echo  rolls 
Of  those  far  times  that  tried  men's  souls, 
When  the  land  was  wet  with  crimson  dew 
As  the  hosts  of  battle  wandered  through, 
When  Bourgoyne  came  to  dare  and  do, 
But  met  down  the  river  his  Waterloo. 

This  is  the  land  whose  beauty  we  know 
All  in  the  grace  of  the  Summer  glow; 
Whose  warders  are  peaks  of  purple  hue. 
Forever  changing,  forever  new. 
Watching  the  wave-dimpled  Lake's  soft  gleam- 
Apparelled  in  beauty — a  fairy  dream. 

This  is  Our  Warren: — a  century  young! 
What  of  his  fame  when  his  lisping  tongue 
Shall  come  to  full  speech,  unfettered  and  free. 
In  the  morn  of  his  manhood  yet  to  be? 
What  glory  be  his  'neath  the  circling  sun 
That  numbers  the  centuries  one  by  one? 
Tell  us,  O  sages: — tell  us,  O  seers. 
His  glory  undreamed  in  a  thousand  years! 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


KEATS. 

A  Minstrel  sang  the  King  of  men ; — 
A  poet's  soul  was  stirred ; — 

A  new  world  swam  within  his  ken, 
Revealed  by  thought  and  word. 

And  when  on  wings  of  song  unfurled 
He  rose  to  heights  sublime, 

New  melodies  awoke  the  world 
To  charm  the  latest  time: 

Now  love  and  fame  their  vigil  keep 
While  seasons  come  and  go, 

And  still  he  hears  the  planets  sweep 
And  feels  the  daisies  grow. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


ST.  ANDREWS  BY  THE  SEA. 

The  silent  years  how  swiftly  sped — 
A  passing  dream  they  seem  to  be, 

Since  earth  and  air  were  all  divine 
In  old  St.  Andrews  by  the  sea. 

With  gleams  of  sun  and  wreaths  of  shade, 
With  love  and  care  allied  of  old 

And  joys  that  gladden  hearth  and  home 
The  half  of  fifty  years  are  told! 

To-day  what  thronging  memories  rise — 
This  day  of  days  henceforth  to  be ; — 

Beyond  the  bloom  of  bridal  wreath 
Lies  fair  St.  Andrews  by  the  sea? 

And  while  the  soldier  wears  the  blue, 
And  bride  and  groom  in  waiting  stand 

You  see  the  far  horizon  bend 

Above  St.  Andrews'  rim  of  sand : 

O  joy  of  Earth  from  Eden-land: 

How  barren  all  the  world  would  be 

If  love  held  not  in  memory  dear 
Some  old  St.  Andrews  by  the  sea! 

O  Love  that  sat  at  Cana's  feast 
And  poured  His  bounty  manifold, 

Thy  blessing  on  these  true  hearts  twain 
And  make  the  new-love  like  the  old. 

O  friends,  who  walk  the  winding  path. 
His  presence  guard  the  household  throng 

And  love  and  faith  and  duty  cheer 
And  gladden  all  the  way  with  song. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


And  when  the  fleeting  years  are  done — 
When  care  and  pain  and  sorrow  flee 

May  that  immortal  land  unfold 

Glimpsed  in  St.  Andrews  by  the  sea. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


IN  PEMAQUID. 

0  Friend :   the  morning  skies  were  fair, 
And  breath  of  bloom  was  in  the  air, 
And  birds  went  singing  everywhere: — 

The  red-wing  and  the  robin  tame, 
The  oriole  like  a  bit  of  flame, 
That  morn  your  welcome  letter  came 
From  Pemaquid. 

1  musing  tread  each  garden  row 

And  watch  the  weeds  and  onions  grow. 

But  how  I  cannot  say,  or  know  ; 

For  truth  to  tell,  my  thought  still  strays 
To  tide-washed  coasts  and  land-locked  bays 
Wherein  his  nets  the  fisher  lays 
In  Pemaquid. 

Or  if  beneath  my  orchard  trees 

I  hear  the  hum  of  golden  bees. 

It  seems  an  echo  of  the  seas 

That  you  behold  in  twilights  dim, 
When  angry  storms  with  visage  grim 
Have  sobbed  into  a  low  soft  hymn 
In  Pemaquid. 

If  we  might  only  look  away 

Across  the  ocean  old  and  gray 

At  sunrise,  or  at  shut  of  day, — 
On  sea-gulls  sailing  wild  and  free, 
And  breathe  the  salt  air  of  the  sea — 
Two  dreamers  dreaming — you  and  me — • 
In  Pemaquid. 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


What  would  I  give?    Oh,  much  of  gain,- 

A  castle  on  the  hills  of  Spain, 

A  ship  upon  the  stormy  main ! 
All  this  to  clasp  you  by  the  hand, 
And  roam  with  you  along  the  strand. 
And  watch  the  sea-lights  from  the  land 
In  Pemaquid. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Mook 

LAPLAND  TOWN. 

When  the  snow  comes  falling  down 
Boyhood  dreams  of  Lapland  Town, 
Cloudy  fancies,  come  and  go 
Through  the  blinding  swirls  of  snow; 
While  from  chambers  of  the  air 
Drift  the  white  flakes  everywhere — 
Airy  children  of  the  mist, 
Caught  by  frosty  elves  and  kissed — 
Lo!  what  dreams  of  winter  cheer 
Throng  the  Lapland  of  the  year. 

When  the  snow  has  fallen  down 
Then  he  builds  a  Lapland  Town! 
Moat  and  fortress,  tower  and  all, 
Quarried  in  the  snowdrift's  wall ; 
White  the  alabaster  floor. 
Winding  hall  and  guarded  door; 
Carven  statues  stern  and  grand 
At  the  crystal  gateway  stand ; 
So  beneath  snow  friezes  Curled 
Stands  the  castle  under-world. 

Deeds  of  valor  and  renown 
Oft  are  wrought  in  Lapland  Town ; 
Goth  and  vandal,  horde  and  clan, 
Storm  full  many  a  grim  Redan ; 
Closer  round  the  forces  draw, 
Such  as  hold  the  world  in  awe! 
Storming  bastions  of  the  foe 
All  with  hand  grenades  of  snow! 
Mighty  strongholds  battered  down 
In  the  realm  of  Lapland  Town ! 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


When  the  snow  the  woodland  fills, 
Light  feet  roam  the  Lapland  hills; 
Sledges,  snowshoes,  deer  and  hound, 
Track  the  white  world  up  and  down; 
Coasting  slope  and  crystal  mere 
Ring  with  life  and  lusty  cheer; 
Steel-winged  feet  of  Mercury  gleam 
Over  captive  lake  and  stream, 
While  the  tired  world  slumbers  so 
Under  white  wool  of  the  snow! 

Full  of  bright  auroral  gleams 
Is  the  Lapland  of  his  dreams ; 
Lapland  Town  is  never  old, 
Spite  of  winter's  fiercest  cold; 
Lapland  Town  is  always  new. 
Luring  on  the  long  year  through; 
Nor  hath  summer's  languid  kiss 
Any  charm  to  equal  this, 
Since  the  grandest  sports  appear 
In  the  Lapland  of  the  year. 


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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


THE  WEDDING  DAY. 

O  wedding  day!    O  wedding  day! 
The  airs  of  Autumn  seemed  to  say 
When  o'er  the  hill  September  came 
With  all  her  goldenrods  aflame, 
To  hail  with  music's  mellow  strain 
The  wedding  day — the  Bridal  train! 

And  while  the  Autumn  Queen  went  by- 
The  Beauty  of  the  Earth  and  sky — 
With  asters  woven  in  her  crown, 
And  many  hued  her  rustic  gown, 
She  bore  in  her  brown,  folded  arms, 
A  rural  wealth  of  floral  charms, — 
Queen  Ann  laces  from  the  plain 
Wrought  in  looms  of  sun  and  rain, 
Tangled  sedges  from  the  stream 
Where  Clematis  and  Cardinal  dream, 
And  only  lingered  by  the  way 
To  muse  upon  the  wedding  day! 

But  when  she  passed  the  portaled  fane 
And  entered  with  the  bridal-train 
And  heard  the  sweet  vows  softly  told 
Within  the  chancel  dim  and  old — 
The  plighted  troth  of  Love  and  will 
That  keeps  the  world  in  Eden  still — 
She  lifted  her  unshadowed  eyes 
And  looked  beyond  the  cloudless  skies. 
And  in  the  sunset's  golden  glow 
She  whispered  tenderly  and  low, 

"God's  blessing  on  the  lovers  twain, 
And  honeymoons  that  never  wane, 
And  may  the  sweet  years  far  away 
Be  gladder  for  this  wedding  day!" 

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The  Cruise  of  the  Half-Moon 


FINIS. 

O  Earth,  our  lives  are  but  a  day: 
About  thy  mother-feet  we  creep, 

Till  tired  at  last  of  all  our  play 
We  nestle  in  thy  breast  and  sleep. 


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